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Any  Watch  You  Want 

r  4fc*wFrom  SQua re  Dea I  Miller 

On  CREDIT 


Waltham 
Hamilton 
Howard 
Elgin 

Illinois,  Seth-Thomas,  Rocktord 

MASH  THE  TERMS'!! 

I  have  well  earned  My  title  of  'Term*  Smashing  Miller."    No  catalog ^published  offer* 
Any  Make  Of  YV«Uch  Y  ou  Want  on  as  Ea»y  and  as  Liberal  Credit  Term*  a*  the  New 

Book  sent  to  you  Free  for  your  name  and  address. 

30  Days  Free  Trial— No  Money  Down 

Express  Prepaid  In  Advance  hy  Me 


Your  Choice  ol 
InUml  I  n.imvl  C.tsi-s 


Mom  \  IX 


l*  the  teat  trial  teua.    SuppoM  you  want  a  w«t< 

lite,  any  eaae.    I  nave  it  I  Of  you- iuat  the  watch,  that  you  v> 
presa  Prepaid.    You  cun  try  my  one  of  America'*  beat  known  tin 

Free  Trial,  a  f  ull  Month  to  tarn  it  in  Your  Pockei. 

An  Open  Account  — No  References  Demanded 

The  same  kind  of  credit  you  Ret  from  your  grocer  liberally  and  cheerfully  Riven.    Arrant- «-- 
^merits  aie  mnde  for  an  Open  Account  as  toon  aa  you  write,    No  red  tape,  no  publicity,  notea 
or  coliectoia.    Every  transaction  is  suictly  confidential  on  term*  made  to  auil  you. 

Send  Coupon  for  Watch  and  Diamond  Book 

Why  >  ou  Should  Ha\  e  This  Book.   It     ti  ' 


Square  Deal  MILLER.  Pres. 

Miller-  Hoeter  Co.,  487  Miller  Bide. 
DetroiC 
Mich. 


ALL-STORY  WEEKLY — ADVERTISING  SECTION. 


00  A  MONTH 
-t-REPAIR/NG 


Be  llrst  to  enter  Ibis  new  big 
paving  business  in  jour  town.  Open 
your  pocket*,    Let  tin-  dollars  pour  in. 
Act  quirk.  Automobile  business  growing  fast. 
Eac-li  Auto  Sold  Means More Tire*  to  Mei.tl. 
Enormous  Held  for  tire  repairing.    Junctures  and 
blon-niit.'  arc  common.  Tires 
need  retread inu'  and  vul- 
canizing'.   Something  go- 
ing wrong  all  the  time. 
Thousands  forced  to  buy 
ne«  tin-s  because  they 
ran':  --told  ones  II  zed. 

'Hunk  of  the  old  bicy- 
cle day*— repair  shops 
•  •ii  erery  corner— all 

making  money—  b  u  6  y 
day  and  night.  Autos 
make    same  proposition 
over  again— only  ten  times 
bletjWr  and  better-    Users  of 
/wood    Tire    Repair  Plants 
are  making:  bit  money.  Johnson. 
Tex  .  writes.  "  I  made  a*  high  as 
*1S  profit  tu  a  day."  Another 
man  who  boutrht  a  plant  Septem- 
ber. 1911.  writes  he  has  cleared 
over  93.000.00.    Be  the  llrst  to 
start.     (Experience    unnecessary.  Ton 
learn  <iuick.    Simply  follow  directions. 
Business  comes  fast  and  easy. 

Repair  Tires  at  Home  JJg^S 
repair  father's  tires  —  get  the  money 
pays  garage  man.  Get  the  neighbors' 
•  i  k.  A  n  io  owners— repair  your  own 
es  —  save  money — have   outfits  for 
me  use.    Anyhow  investigate.  Send 
today  for  catalogue  explaining  wonderful 
money  making  possibilities  in  this  Held. 

HAYW000  TIRE  &  EQUIPMENT  CO.. 
'■'■I-  Capitol  Ave..       Indianapolis,  In. I. 


Amazing  Bargains 


Write  today  for  our  latest  bulletin.  Shows 
hundreds  of  remarkable  bargains  in  diamonds 

and  other  jewelry.   Our  customers'  letters 

show  as  much  and  more  than 

*/2  Saved 

an  gorgeous  gems,  watches. etc.  Diamond  Bank 

E  ourBusiness.  Exquisite  jewelry  on  which  we 
led  money.  You  got  the  benefit — astounding  un- 
oan  prices.  Write  for  bulletin. 


.  rated 


Free  Examination 

inga  before  you  buy. 
Money-Back  J;.-' 
Guarantees  r. 

Bonk.  Marine  National  Ban 

Write  Today  2s 
Jos.  DeRoy  &  Sons  "V:' 

•  21  DjRot  Building  -  Pittsburgh,  Pa. 


We  pay  express, 
i  firm  of  over  CO  yea' 

r  1750,000  00.  Roto  

miMioo   Former's  Duuu 


inn.  Get  onr  lat- 


Only  $7.85 

No.  3245S7.  i~h 
kt.  daxilinir  bnlihint 
fin*  quality  blue- 
white  Koltta.re  Ren- 
ame diamond  in  14- 
kC,  cold  arnrf  pin  or 
ladya  ring-.  Try  to 
ntcbat  120.  Unpaid 


MAKE  $10  A  DAY 


wlib  our  wondt 
Mut-lilne.  Tax. 
in  halt  minute: 
room,  t  rl  <n 
Cards  and  Butt, 
money  any  w  her 
profits.  Be  your 
Book.  Teacimonlu 
AMERICAN 
2214  r)Kden  Avonu 


rful  Chamiiloii  I'lcture 

■s,  develops,  finishes  photo 
300  'M  honr.  >o  (lurk 
i  r  Cnntrrtstiry.  Photo  Post 
us  all  the  rage  I  You  coin 
Small  investment:  big 
own  boss.  Write  for  Free 
K  etc. 

MIM  TE  rOOTO  CO. 

it.  Dept.  X  31.  Chicago.  IIL 


,00 


Superb  Comet 


$2- 

^■tp.""""""      An  oj .'.iiiii.iinK  oiler.     Tuia  Triple 
Silve  r  l  lii.  ,J   Li-nr    IVnr,.-t  will  lIP 
•jntu.  y»a  for  only  <_>.,*.     l-.v  ,nc  ....1^  «  JTe  n. ^ 
of  only  lOiauay.  rrco  Cr.ul  be  I  or*  j.,u  diculc  u>  bu, 

VoRijIzBP/Rff  B«,"d  Catalog! 


lmaljoa  pagw  B 


Irraa  Carrylac  CaM —witli 
Oil*  Superb  "TViDlii  Silver 
I'lat^d  Lyme  Cornet,  ircnuine 
Irjih.T.    Wi  nto  today. 


atr-.irr.,- 


1  Cab 
k-bottum  prices  oo  ml'  kV 
-easy  payments.  Ccnero 
old  Instruments.  Wo  aupp 
Wnta  ...day  for  Froe  band  Caunc 

THE  RUDOLPH  WURLrTZER  CO. 

Dapt.  A  1  o  fi  rjiicno,  llifala 


U.  8. 


Cincinnati.  Ohio 


ii 


What  y  Doin' 
Now,  Bill? 

You  don't  have  to  ask  that  question  of 
a  trained  man,  because  you  know  his 
position  is  a  permanent  one — that  he  is 
not  at  the  mercy  of  conditions  that  affect 
the  untrained  man. 

You  can  always  be  sure  of  a  good  position 
and  a  good  salary  if  you  have  the  special 
training  that  puts  and  keeps  you  in  demand. 
The  International  Correspondence  Schools  will 
bring  special  training  to  you,  no  matter  where 
you  live,  or  how  little  spare  time  or  spare 
cash  you  have. 

To  learn  how  the  I.  C.  S.  can  help  you, 
and  how  you  can  easily  qualify  for  Success  in 
your  chosen  occupation,  mark  and  mail  the 
attached  coupon  today.  Doing  so  costs  you 
only  the  postage.  You  assume  no  obligation. 
If  you  think  you're  ambitious,  marking  the 
coupon  will  prove  it.     Do  it  NOW. 


INTERNATIONAL  CORRESPONDENCE  SCHOOLS 

Box  804        SCRANTON.  PA. 

Explain,  without  further  obligation  on  my  part,  how 
I  can  qualify  for  the  position  before  which  I  mark  X 


ele<  run  1 1. r\r;i\Trm\a 

_l  I.  ir.e       1>. it  Hallways 

Telephone  Expert 
□  MT<  II IMI  tl  lMilM  EBISe 
_  Mechanical  Dralting 
_  Gas  Engines 
_  UV1L  tM.INFrRI.SU 
Siirverlne  and  Mapping 
MINI    niHLSI.lN  aM.-FTT. 

M  l  1  l>\  »  H V  t  ncin  ki  ki.m; 
ARCHITECTURE 
Building  Contractor 
Architectural  Dralting 
Concrete  Engineering 
Structural  Engineering 

whim;  ami  uuji.m. 
u  10  111  >  i  m. 

Name  


SALESMANSHIP 
ADVLRTISLNG 
Window  Trimming 
Show  Card  Writing 
Letterlnr  and  .Sim  I 'Minting 
ILLUSTRATING 
BOOKKEEPING 
StenorrapbT-  and  Trpewritlnr 
Higher  Accounting 
Commercial  Law 

i. .».i>  r.vfii  i>ii  ion  rni.M 
Teachers  Course 
Cnellsh  Branches 
CIVIL  SERVICE 
AGRICL'L  fURE 
POL  LTRV 
lnlJlJ-lr 


lSpani.fi 
]i,eraiao 
1  (renrh 


Preseti  t  Occupa  tioc 


r  Street  and  No. 
City  


-States. 


In  ausKcr'.Mj  ar>u  advertisement  on  this  pane  U  ft  4* 


tiiablr   that  you  mention  Aix-SroBT  W'beklt. 


ALL-STORY  WEEKLY— ADVERTISING  SECTION. 


Where  Are  You  Going  This  Summer? 


Whether  you  will  travel  or  stay  at  home,  you  cannot  afford  to  miss  the  impor- 
tant educational  article  of  72  profusely  illustrated  pages  which  appears  in 
the  Munsey's 


Special  Summer  Resort  Number 


In  an  authoritative,  intensely  interesting  way,  writers  familiar  with  our  great 
national  playgrounds  tell  you  everything  you  need  to  know  to  plan  a  delightful 
vacation  in  vour  own  country.  This  is  an  article  you  will  want  to  read  and  pre- 
serve.   It  appears  complete  in 


The  article  will  be  divided  into  five  sections.  Eastern  and  New  England,  the 
Lake  Regions,  the  West  and  Canada.  Reading  these  pages  will  be  like  making 
this  wonderful  tour  in  person,  and  to  the  tourist  who  plans  a  summer  outing  on 
th«s  side  of  the  Atlantic,  the  June  Munsey  will  form  a  complete  and  accurate 
guide  book.  Besides  this  big  feature,  this  issue  contains  all  the  regular  Munsev 
features  and  a 


100  Magnificent  Illustratioi.s 


Complete  $1.50  Book-Length  Novel 


"Old  Loves  for  New" 


by  Elizabeth  York  Miller 


Get  Your  Copy  Now 


15  CENTS 


ALL  NEWSSTANDS 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY 


Vol.  xlv 


NUMBER  4 


ONE  NOVELETTE 


577 

FOUR  CONTINUED  STORIES 

SQ7 

A  Two-Part  Story  —  Part  One 

James  B.  Hendryx  .  . 

.  640 

A  Five-Part  Story  —  Part  Two 

Anne  Warner     .    .  . 

Z  O  A 

.  684 

A  Five- Part  Story  —  Part  Four 

Perley  Poore  Sheehan  . 

.  724 

A  Five-Part  Story  —  Part  Five 

SIX  SHORT 

STORIES 

Anne  Cameron  . 

.  633 

Samuel  J.  Lewis  . 

.  672 

Elmer  Brown  Mason  . 

.  709 

Bad  Blood  and  Blue  

Fletcher  Chenault 

.  740 

748 

Paul  West  

759 

VERSE 

The  Desert  Jennie  Harm  Oliver    596     Safety  First  Walter  G  Doty  739 

Dusky  Eyes  H.  S.  Haskins    632      The  College  Furnace  .    .     .     .  N.  Parker  Jones  747 

Which  ?  "  Tenderloot  "    639      The  Contradiction  .    .  Amanda  Benjamin  Hall  758 

"Moon-Madness"  Dorothy  Foster    719   |  The  Master— Dead    .    Djuna  Chappell  Barnes  768 


Heart  to  Heart  Talks  The  Editor 


720 


THE  FRANK  A.  MUNSEY  COMPANY,  8  WEST  FORTIETH  STREET,  NEW  YORK,  and  TEMPLE  HOUSE.  TEMPLE  AVENUE.  E.  C.  LONDON 

Funk  A    Mukhkt.  I'raaldcnt  Km  i\»nc  B.  TtniMUnuTuN.  Sacrataxr  I'uuniiniu  H.  Pure.  Inuunr 

Single  topln,  10  cwli.  By  the  >aar.  S4.00  In  United  Slate*.  Its  dependence*.  Mexico  end  Cuba  :  S6.00  to  Canada,  and  SS-00  to  Fore.cn 
Countne*.  Remittance*  should  be  made  by  check.  eaDrest  money  order  or  postal  money  order.  Currency  should  not  bt  tent  unless  registered 

ICStlKP  WKKKLY      LOrYKIOHT.   11*16.   BY   THK   PRANK   A     MITNSEY  t  UMCANY 


ESTF.RKI)  AT  THE  -SEW  Yi.KK  IVST-oKFICE  AS  StC"MKLI5>  MAIL  MATTER- 


Classified  Advertising  ] 

'  The  Purpote  of  tui»  Department  ^SSj'tLSJTT  V-> 


is  to  pui  the  icadri  in  touch  on  me- 
diate!., wiih  ilic  newest  needfuls  lor 
ihc  home.  ollicc.  larm.  or  person  :  lo 
•■Her.  or  %<tk.  an  unusual  business 
opportunity.  »•  I"  *ug«esl  «  service 
thai  ma*  be  performed  satisfactorily 

through  correspondence     Ii  *»tll  pay 

j  housewife  or  business  man  equally 
well  lo  read  these  advertisements 
carefully . 


Th*  Mun.ey  Magazine* 


.Muiikm.v'b  MiSfcTUine 

B 

Sa«iaJ 

Ttio  Arguay  .    •   .  J.  > 

lunlroad  Man's  Mag* 

Line  Rsli 

Hit*  

m 

*4.49 

All  Sl«rr  WssokTy    .  . 

Lm  J»  cask 

S4.7I), 

aw*  •wot. 

tall  ■  all  Han  *Nki|  fotai 

Ckysa  N 

■a  lllk. 

■J    Yc<#   r...r*  .U  ............ 

»*..«v~  ,^    ...  •-  , 


isaf  .....  t— 


AGENTS  &  SALESMEN  WANTED 


ITNERS— MEN      AND  WOMEN' 

vM  osygrn  Tulles   Article*.  e»c.,  «*<"■ 


A  DOLLAR 
OUR  GOOOS 

otlli  nur  ousel 
"  .'...v.    me  "  ^ 


A      MINUTE      CANT      BE      MADE  WITH 

aiiyUxty  s  Bui  yon  can  make  aoud  money 
»'iJrr-<.  imi  "ilil  in  «iorr».  Write  and  say 
Mf*     Co..    41 U    Warren    Sinn.    New  York. 

FREE  SAMPLE  —  NOSPLASH  WATER  STRAINERS 
SELL  THEMSELVES.  Nu  talking  exptrieiu'c  unnec^arr. 
Daily  prutiu  *-'•  upward*.  Ser.il  Jc  I  walling  cost  I .  F.  U-  B. 
Irduu   Filter  Co..   New  York. 


ATTENTIUN  —  BUTTER  I*  A  POUND  WONDERFUL 
PATENT     MACHINE.     «hk*l     in  rj  -  ptOI     pi     milk  into 

one  iuMiii.1  ot  hotter  imaMuif  iwo  pounds)  In  two  minute-;. 
134  per  rent,  to  Agents.  Writ,  lot  information  Family 
Butter    Merger    Co..    Washington,    D.  C. 

AGENTS  WANTEO  TO  TAKE  ORDERS  FOR  "Visiting 
and  Business  Cards  ot  Distinction."  I, arm  Lirofils  Outfit  fro. 
fVatuaa    Printery.    o»t    M  .    Wa-erUiry,  Connecticut. 


HELP  WANTED 


RAILWAY     MAIL     AND     POSTAL     CLERKS:  examinations 

loon:     OMC     K         appointments     yiarly      Prepare     at  home. 

Writ*  tor  OUT  Flan  Nik  301  of  payment  after  appoint- 
ment. Philadelphia  Business  College,  Clril  Scrrlce  Department. 
ITitladolphia.  Pa.   

GOVERNMENT   POSITIONS    PAY    BIG    MONEY.  Kiomlna- 

Uons  rrrrrniirre  soon,  tirt  prepared  by  farmer  United  BUtw 
Cletl  Srrclrt.  F.xamlner.  64  pace  booklet  free.  Write  to-<lay. 
Pa'i.r».«i   CPU    S.rrlre    School.    lUn    1304.    Kochester.    N.  Y. 

THOUSANDS  Jobs  0p«n  To  Men — Women.  $Tr.  month.  Va- 
cation*. Sliort  hours  Steady  work.  Common  education  sufficient. 
Write  immediately  for  list  11.  8.  Government  position*  now 
oritainalrfe.    Franklin   1  tut  I  tale.   Dtpt   W-3.    noctleatcr,   X.  Y. 

EARN    f.20.00    PER    WEEK.    Any    Woman    Cnn    Earn  This 

taking  orders  f<*  Young's  Victoria  Toilet  Anlrlea.  Tbcy  are 
beautiful  grants  and  sold  on  a  guarantee.  BueetM  Is  sure  Ity 
'J?"  .P'*n.  L*t  ««U  you  how  you  «lo  this.  Write  today 
F    H    Voutui  *   Co  .   nao   Oakwond   Atenue.  Toledo.  Ohio. 

NEW  PROFESSION— Either  Se>  —  fittlna  Glasses  Bv  Scion- 
tlfic  Methods.  Qui.-s.ly  tsuat.l  |w  Horn,  Httitb  ™  cwm 
Diploma  itrantfxl  Liberal  payment  plan,  flr.at  demand  for 
craituaWx.  Big  lini.nx.-    Full  part  n  nlar,  and  .  ataloe  trw  Write 


care 

fitly 


irtunltles  On 

I'liamreH  berc 
■all.  Eneloae 


FOR  WOMEN 


OffrnRarVn  *mi^L'MANr   BEAUTIFUL    J.'-PIECE  GOLD 
DECORATED    DINNER    SET    tut    ill  Irlblltlnf.    or.l>    3  doarn 
.  '•     ■    J"    •onipleAlnn    Snap     No    nuuirv    oe  ernrMenra 
!»ee.l>.i.    J._Jyrr«tl_Ward.   ?U    Instjtut.    Place.  Chicago. 


MUSIC  AND  SHEET  MUSIC 


SONG  POEMS  WANTED  for  pumlr.-ion    lt.K  mnne,  wrntn! 

■  "-in.ir.  V'i    r*?,nr"™     uimc-esaarv.     Our  proposition 

|.»un«*-i>   ui.r.pialtil.   w..  acri-pt   avallal-t.-   ...  ..    for  publication 

»!.«   ;'■  i'T  V".1**.  "•'  •naimotlf.  t.ooki.i    if.  free. 

Marka-RoldaMUh  t  ..  .  M.  VVa«htii«i.rf..  u.  f 


AGENTS  &  SALESMEN  WANTED 


JUST  OU- 

frotu  6  lo 
A  Bents"  (iris- 


IPO 

13 


Hi    \N    l  onuttuaii  &  t'fl 


'ERY  LIN 

of    our  t 

Oils  eaelk. 


Bu«t  drink 
Many  make 
U.i    glass  a< 


WILL  BUY 


Ctt 


AGE  NTs     WANTEO— TU     ADVERTISE     OUR     GOODS  b) 

dlstrtuutuit:  Ires  aantple  to  cunniuirr  !>"  «>tnl»  an  hosir. 
Write    for     full     partb-ularn.      The     Fasort     Cosupan;.  1001 

Weal    Si  ml.    Dayton.  «»hlo. 


»25U  FOR  RELIABLE  MAN  OR  WOMAN.  DISTRIBUTE 
2000  Free  Packages  U'-t*\  PoWtltl  oltll  Moapa.  ftC.,  In  your 
i. .nu  No  tnonr]  or  itroti1iiiit«  immnIM.  J-  Ward  Co..  224 
Institute.  Chicago. 

JIO.OO    SAMPLE    WATCH     FREE    TO    MEN     AND  WOMEN 

who  will  sell  our  wati-hc*.  $18  to  ISO  a  wn-k  eaatly  made  by 
aiioata  wtM  desotc  ilinr  entile  tiiu^.  Wrlif  today  for  our  Frta 

Sample  Watch  and  u-niw.     Ugdesi  Jtwciiy  •  -   .  I  ••  i-      •  I'lucuS" 


MAGIC    INK  ERASER.    NO    BLADE.    NO    ACID.  R.m..ws 

ink  like  magic.  10c.  Bella  25c  lo  S5c.  Offlcee  buy  1  to  IS.  Any 

in. ii-  i bat  .-an  i  -.il  i . 'in. If i . I-  i-oul'lii  i  sell  t.rrgd  in  a  famlu. 

Sample  Die.  S.  Mfg.  Co..  Dept.  M.  SO  Warreo  ML.  Slew  xdffc. 


PATENT  ATTORNEYS 


PATENTS  THAT  PROTECT  AND  P  A  V.  ADVICE 
AND     BOOKS     FREE.      BOgtUM     refercui-es.      Beat  rosulta. 

PrompUic*!.  assured  Sand  sKetdl  it  model  for  seari'b. 
WabsoQ    E.    Coleman.   624   F  Streei.   Waauingti«.   D.  C 

PATENTS — TRADE-MARKS.     Ssnd     For     My  Frta  Book. 

"How  To  Get  Them."  It's  -full  of  !ni.>rma' b.i,  >i.u  should  know. 

J'.sbna  It  II  r.niB.  S  S.  DearU-ni  S'..  Oileago:  bJ9  Cbestuut 
Si..    Philadelphia,    ho'.    C    SI..  Wn^lilligtnii. 


PATENTS  SECURED  OR  FEE  RETURNED.  Send  alietrty 
tor    in-     -oari-ii     our    l^ur  ><  nt    fr._>     It.  n    to  Obtain 

Pateul    ai.d    What    to   liierin    wnb    l.i.t    of    li.if-nilons  Wanted 

and    $1.  .mi"     In     lMaes    Offered    for     Inventions  Patent* 

adurilsiM  Free  Wanted  New  Ideas.  Send  for  li>l  of  Patent 
Buy  its.   Vli-tir  J    K>ans  ft  Co..  762  Ninth.  Washington.  D-  C- 


"  PRI2ES    FOR  PATENTS.' 

Bow    To    Get    Tour  Patent 

Inventors  Fall."  "  Neednd  Inr 
A  Co..  ti.tn  F  Street.  Waahlin 


"  MONEY  IN  PATENTS." 
And    Money-'     "Why  Homa 

ii. .ii.       S.  nt    free.  Ilandnlph 

on.   D.  C. 


MOTION  PICTURE  PLAYS 

WRITE    MOVING    PICTURE   PLAYS.   S2S  TO   1100  EACH. 

liiii  ili-m.si.il    Pr.iioun  rxp.-ri   literary  talent  or  correspond- 

ence courts  unnecessary.  Send  today  t.'i  tree  details  and  specie! 

offar.  F.-Z  tscenarto  Co..  AC.  SI*  Wvm  93  st  .  New  York 

WHITE     MOVING    PICTURE    PLAYS     JI0    to    $100  each 

Constant  demand.  Doeutr  all  or  spars-  lime.  No  ccirronpotidoise 
courae.  Htart  work  at  once.  D-talU  free.  Atlas  Pui.iDblng  Co. 

; .    v  1  1 .    p., hi. hum.  ■  'in.  Kin  ,11.  hi. i'.  

lilHLS     WANTEO      FOR     MOTION     PICTURE  ACTING. 

Flora  Finch's  hook  tells  you  how  10  act.  where  10  appl 
for  prMitiiiii*.  etr    Send:  Die  for  hook.  Matthew*  Book  Agency 

•r.    Nli  nil    Mr,  .1.    N..W    llasen.  Culm 


AUTHORS-MANUSCRIPTS 

POETS.     AUTHORS 1     MAKE     GOOD     MONEY  WRITING 

Short  Stories,  Poems.  Etc.  Ms*,  sold  ••"  ...inrul-vbui  t»ur  sy-i.-m 
inii  ic.  ll.-d  Prompi  srrrlcv;  oulcli  returns.  Partlrulgni  free. 
National  l.llerary  Bureau  (Literary  Bmliers).  MS.  Hannibal.  Mo. 


t;   „..»,.-.-,,„,,  „„„  MiMrftWMUMi    on    (ftta  pupc  U  U  dtuirublr    r/mf    you    mcnUon    A.  i.-Stokt  WatKM. 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY— ADVERTISING  SECTION. 


STAMPS  AND  RARE  COINS 


"  $50.00  PAID  For  Dollar  1873  S.  Mint:  12.00  For  1904  Proof 

Dollars;  $7  HO  fur  1bj3  Quarter*,  no  arrow*.  etc.  Wulch  >our 
tliaugc.  Many  «lual>l(  coins  clrculMUia*.  B#.l  poaUd.  U  U) 
in., in  i arm-  i-r.iilis  in  ynu  S.-riil  mil)  -k-  f"r  I. arm  Ulu*.  Coin 
Orcular.  Send  to  Xuummatlc  Bank.  Depl  M.  Fort  Worth,  TtX. 
S4.25  PAID  FOR  FLYING  EAGLE  CENTS  .lim-d  isv:  We 
ii  cash  premium  on  hundreds  of  nht  coins.  Send  10c  al  once 
f.ir  New  Illustrated  fulii  \  aluc  II. ml,.  4\T  Ii  may  ui.an  your 
fortune    Clarke  ft  Co..  CoId  Dealrm.  Box  103.  l.a  Hoy.  N.  Y. 


TYPEWRITERS 


GENUINE     TYPEWRITER     BARGAINS:     I  MttCI  What 

mai.r.  win  Quote  gtm  Iqwmi  i  ii  and  tntlcsi  fcrms.  nr  rent. 

allnwiiiK  rental  on  price,  Write  r.ir  lilt:  l-ar»-aln  list  and 
catalogue  hi.  L.  J.  Pea'iody.  2SC  Devonshire  St..  Boston .  Mass. 


PRINTING 


100  GOOD  REGULAR  SIZE  WHITE  ENVELOPES.  font 
name  and  buslnrss  prUlled  on  Hie  corner,  30  cents  postpaid; 
S00  rot  81.S.V  Sample.,  tree.  M.  Brenclsa  Co..  Wheeler.  Indiana. 


FIREARMS  WANTED 


FIREARMS-OLD-TIME  AND  MODERN.  Buy.  sell, 
exchange  all  torts.  Stephen  Van  Ucn.^scluer.  West  Orange.  N.  J. 


REAL  ESTATE— FARM  LANDS 


MISSISSIPPI 


IS  HE  CRAZY?  The  owner  of  a  plantation  in  Mississippi 
Is  kilving  away  a  t-w  Qve-BCK  tracts.  The  only  condition  Is 
that  flc*  he  planted.  The  owner  wants  enough  figs  raised  to 
supply  a  (/allium;  Kiiriory.  You  can  secure  Que  acres  and  an 
Interest  in  the  Factory  t>y  writing  Euhonk  Farms  Company. 
183  Keystone,  Pittsburgh,  P*.  They  will  plant  and  care  for 
your  trees  for  $fi  per  month.  Your  profit  should  he  $1,000 
ptl  v.-. ,r  Sottt  think  this  man  Is  crazy  for  giving  away 
such  valuable  land,  but  there  may  be  method  In  liU  madness. 


BOAT  OWNERS 

II  you  want  to  win  boat  races  buy  the  famous | 
MICHIGAN  Propellers,  Reverse  Gears  and 
motor  boat  accessories. 

Write  Today  for  Large  Catalog  Free 
""  MICHIGAN  WHEEL  CO., 

1130  MONROE  AVENUE 
GRAND  RAPIDS.  MICHIGAN 

yt  manufacturer*  In  u.  ft. 


Send  for 
Jewelry  Catalog  No.  57 


fontrtlninn  ovt-r  2.000  L.-iiufiful  illt^'.iuiti.na  iJumundi.  Wmtehc*.  ATt*»tic 
J«w**||-y,  3tlv*TWHr«.  Cut  (ila>t«,  etc.  Select  unyOiinir  desired,  either  for  iwr- 
sonal  wear,  or  for  uirifi  to  friend  or  loved  one.  then  ask  u»  to  send  th«  •elec- 
tion for  your  examination.    U  will  be  aeot,  all  chaxire*  p-epsud  by  u« 

YOU    PAY   NOTHING  — NOT   ONE  CENT 

iintit  yuu  ass  and  sxsmina  llie  article  rlshl  In  your  own  hand*.  If  you  like  EC. 
pay  one-fifth  of  the  purchase  price  ana  keep  il.  balance  divided  Into  eight 
equal  amounta.  payable  monthly  If  not  entirely  auti»factur> .  return  at  r.ur 
essenae  You  ana  urn*  no  riak:  you  are  under  no  utilisation  Our  C*'-a-»f 
tclla  all  about  our  Exiy  Credit  Plan.   Scml  tor  It  Today.  It  m  fREC 

LOFTIS  BROS.  &  CO.,  The  National  Credit  Jewelers 

Dept.  A 240,       100  to  108  N.  State  Street.  Chicago,  Illinois 

(Established  18581   Storea  in:  Chicago  :  Pittsburgh   :    St.  Louis  :  Omits 


1  can  make  acood  penman  rfl  you  at  home  flui  tag 
spare  time.  Write  for  my  rree  book  "Hon  t»  liernme 
a  (•noil  Prnnrnn."    It  conta-lOH  si'eeiuiens  and  tells 
□owothers  mastered  i„  timanship  by  the  Tain  hi  vn 
1  System.    Your  name  will  he  <■  I*-l-k<>iI>  written 
on  a  card  If  you  em-lone  stamp  to  pay  INlllltCf 

|  F.  W.  TAMBLYN.  408  ■tfst  Baildms.  Kiosjj  Qti.  Ms. 

Delivered  to  You  Free  copy  this  sketch 


A  sample  1915  model  "Krangor"  bicycle,  on  approval 
and  30  oars  trial  and  rree.  riding  test. 

Wrlto  at  once  r,.r  large  illustrated  cataloR  show 
ing  complete  dm-  of  bicycles,  tires  and  supphcu.  anil  the 
most  manitlmia  offer  ever  made  on  a  bicycle.  You  will  be 
astonished  at  DOT  low  prices  and  remarkable  terms. 

RIDER  AGENTS  Wan  forf-Boys,  make  money 
taking  orders  for  Bicycles.  Tires  and  Sundries  fan 
our  big  catalog.    Do  Business  direct  with  the  l.-ad- 
icycle  house  in  America.    Do  not  buy  until  you  know 
what  we  can  do  for  you.    WHITE  TO  US. 
MEAD    CYCLE    CO..     DEPT.  a. 288  CHICAGO 


at  1/40  llic  cost— IN  SOLID  GOLD  RINGS 

Stand  acid  tent  and  expert  examination.  We 
guarantee  Ihnui.  Sr.  ih.,„  iir.i-ihrn  nay. 
t«p>nlal  Hilar-  11  Ic  Tiffany  ring  I  et.  86.Bg. 
Uenta  ring  let.  $fi.98.  Ilk  stud  1  cfc  Sent 
0.  p.  D,  fnr  inspection.  <',,alnt  fltliE,  allows 
full  line.  I'Hl'-nt  ring  iinuga  included,  loc.  Tha 

ii. i, . ,u  v-..  UrnL  l.a*.  MM  i  ».».. cbi<-sc«. 

THROW  YOUR  VOICE! 

im.v  tin-  naxt  room.  down  oellai*.  untur  the  bed 

or  anywhere.     Knol  your  friend),.  InLs  of  fun 

ThcVENTRILOPHONE 

Is  a  little  liiHtniiiiiMii  lli.it  III-  nun  the  iinnuli  and 
.  auiM.t  i.e  H..J  s  nr  urn,  ,.„,,  u 

We  also  wild  yon  COMPLETE   I N STRUG- 
1IONS  m  ti„    \KI  ,  r  M  n  ;  ,C5  LOQI  ISM. 

Uill.ii.irl.^  ri.talnu-nf  :!<»ll  N.iv.-ltiPSiillfor  LOCtS.  StVlOM 

or  com.   ARDKK  Co.,  Desk  8,  Stnmford.  Conn. 


and  lot.  me  see  wlinf  roil  CU  d"  with  it. 
llluMrstnra  mid  rAFtoOnltM  earn  from  SS0 
to  Sliia  a  week  r  more.  My  practical 
vystem  of  perSOQaJ  Indiviilunl  lessoAt 

mail  win  develop  yoor  is  rent.  Kiit.-.-n  years 
Fneccitsful  work  for  ncwapapcrs  and  ninca- 
Iines  ipialirirc  me  CO  tench  you.  Srn.l  inc 
your  sketch  .f  Prr.ldrnt  Wll.nn  with  lie  In  .lamp> 
and  I  Bill  .end  you  a  t»«t  lr««on  l«latc.  nlao  .-ollcc 
lion  of  ilrawiniM  ahuwina  |..,ii«il>ilitie»  f,»f  YOU. 

The  Landon  School  ftfSSESZ 

1459  1CIIOHH.li  lit  |I.IM\...  i  l  l  »  h.ami.  it. 


A  MONTH 

Buys  This  Visible 

OLIVER  Typewriter 


I'nusual  oltrr. 
Belline    the  f 


FREE  Trial 

Nothing   Down  ! 


If  yon  decide  to  hrcp  It.  acrid  as  as 
™-  mm  IS  par  nunc     This       the  •landaid 
PI"!*'-  'r*»h  tram  *■  factory,  with  all  iha  Oliyar  faaturwi - 
viainic  wriunff.  mnriclnal  rolraa^    universal  ke*b<N&rO    ate.  Don't 
-P*         yp"  "«'■'•  -"i  our  Fr«!  Trial  Offer  nnd  ren.araaMt  low 
price.   v>  rll«  ua  soar,  kefors  lou  rmret  It-  iJOS 

TYPEWRITERS  DISTRIBUTING  SYNDICATE 
1510   33  E  Wabash  Ave..  Chicaso 


in  amtvtrtna  «„„  t&ntit&meni  on  tH,  paac  U  i,  4r*i,ahu  that  v,  ,  .,,„.« 


AtLSTuRT  WnKtT 


ALL-STORY  WEEKLY — ADVERTISING  SECTION. 


This  country  recognizes  three  grades 
of  truth: 

— the  truth 

— the  whole  truth 

— nothing  but  the  truth 

"The  Truth"  l»y  itself  may  he  falsi' 
because  of  what  it  leaves  unsaid,  or 
l>eeau>e  while  technically  correct  it  is 
designed  to  mislead. 

"The  whole  truth"  may  be  inef- 
fective because  it  leaves  one  asking — 
"Will,  what  arc  you  going  to  do  about 
it?" 

"Nothing  but  the  truth"  involves 
a  grasp  and  expression  at  right  funda- 
mentals, rounded  knowledge,  fair  play 
— an  irresistible  appeal. 


In  Chicago  from  June  90th  to  24th 
there  will  Ik*  a  convention  of  The 
Ass4M-iatt*d  Advertising  Clubs  of  the 
World.  Tin-  standard  under  which 
this  convention  assembles  is 

"Nothing  but  the 
Truth  in  Advertising" 

This  is  not  a  sentimental  standard. 
It  i^  a  commercial  standard  main- 
tained by  the  contact  of  idealists,  en- 
thusiasts, and  hard  heads. 

It  is  the  only  standard  under  which 
the  annual  expenditure  of  $600,000,000 
for  advertising  can  be  made  to  pay. 
It  is  the  standard  under  which  2,000 
people  met  last  June  in  Toronto  and, 
before  that,  in  Baltimore,  Dallas, 
Boston. 

It  is  the  standard  under  which 
every  reader  of  new  spapers,  maga- 
zines, outdoor  signs,  booklets,  novel- 
ties— the  printed  or  painted  adver- 
tising message — has  come  to  believe 
what  he  reads. 


You  are  In  vitrei  to  Attend 

No  adult  in  this  country  but  uses  or  is  affected  by  advertising.  The  con- 
venhon  in  Chicago  will  give  you  ideas  for  application  to  your  own  business 
and  your  own  life.  You  will  come  in  contact  with  the  discoverers  and  pioneers 
m  the  development  of  the  economic  force  of  advertising— a  force  which  wiU  grow 
with  your  support  as  you  will  grow  by  contact  with  it  and  its  workers. 

For  special  information  address  CONVENTION 
COMMIT  THE,  Advertising  Ass'n  of  Chicago,  Adver- 
tising   Bldg.,    ]0,j    Madison  Street,  Chicago. 

Associated  Advertising  Clubs 
of  the  World 

11th    Annual  Convention 


"°er""'  ""•  u  u  u**j&  ,»,„  £ 


ALL-STORY  WEEKLY—  ADVERTISING  SECTION. 


AGENTS! 


DROP  DEAD  ONES.  AWAKE  I 
GRAB  THIS  NEW  INVENTION) 
THE   20lh  CENTURA  WONDER 


AGENTS! r 

Get  started  in  an  honest,  clean,  reliable,  money  making  business  Sold  on  a  money  back  guarantee 

World'*  maei<m  •-•<•'  Ptaltoed  bj  thin  u«  Invention  riie  BLACKSTOM 
W  ITElt  I'llH  l-K  \  Al  l  I  M  M  M  \«  U1NC  foi  'I"  homi     tin  <  o-i 

i,,  niMTMir.  Ijihi.x  life  tun.-.  Price  wiUiin  reacb  of  All.  So  cmupetlimn.  Sen  rirM 
Norn  bualuew.  r n»t  *  wbjr  if*  wuty.  Reittovea  bluclelie«d»,  wrinkle*  rouniU  um 
nit}  partol  toe  face  or  body  and  tirmirs  imoi.  >Hiuri''»  liciuin.  kiuJit-.-.j  in  i,  ,  i,n. 
riot-ton*  tuid  inusneure.  Listen!  1'arkcr.  Okla..M«.v«.  "  iiordfrM  ilituunv."  Miiix- 

m  a  rill.  I'm..  writ**.  "I  »m  miiiI.Hu!  91U.UU  |wr  ilu)  .'"  SIm-m.  "rllnl  nrdi  i  la.   id  ... 

i  bird  7'.'."  8ctiermerliorn<  la.,  order*  etsht  doaen  runoUlnri  ii.-i  .in  Mialffr. 

Va..  "  si-IIiiik  I  (Mil  of  5  dr ni".i«Mi*li..iii'  \  ailKllli.  \Vn»li..  urilfrj  om  ■!•  -Z'-n  l-..ui 
.Inv.H  In i..-r  »  ii  •  ■»    8UlplJ  dox«"ii  !•>  ili>t  i-xi-r.         >i>aln. Triiii..        i<  ■  I  »  >ti.  »ani|.li-. 

iii-ilcrs  r|../.nii,  tli.'ii  'i  <lo/.ra.  it..-  x  i  '.i  .|"zi-n     Li-i»U.  I  ml.,  -ill-     inaebmei  II. -i 

lioiir.  nmn-'  Best  arti<-)o  u»  ever  •*«  for  im-rii  And  monej  -inaklnff."  Mo  expe- 
rience! neeeasan  .  i errltorj  «  lUi  protection  prtvi  n trot  In u        u  orkers.  Nothint: 


LEARN  Ihe  NEW  WAV 


Bent  uveitis  article  ever  Invented.  w 
patents.   Bis  bunh  eni 11 1<  d. 
"  1  in-  Power  and  1  Love 
r..,_j.   of  Meant y  anil   Health. " 

I-  re*-.  Ihv.-mikhI.-  now.  lo- 
3«%<:v-la>.  I  Postal  will  do.  Able 
'■■        aui'i'rike  awaiti-  you.  AddreN 

BLACKSTONE  MFG.  CO. 

so  Miradltli  RMr-    iihmio,  o. 


.■11  nil 


S_  mill  1.. 


J5he  BEST 


ALL-FICTION  MONTHLY 

J^O    you    like    fiction    that  tickles 
your  ribs,  stirs  your  imagination, 
satisfies  your  desire  for  adventure  ? 

Fiction  that  places  before  you  the  tang  of 
the  camp-fire  wood-smoke,  the  brine  of  the 
ocean  breeze,  the  shock  of  charging  armies, 
the  .-1 1  kali  dust-mirage  of  the  American  desert, 
the  glare  of  Northern  snows  ? 

•3  Fiction  that  shows  you  the  heroism,  the 
humor,  the  strength,  the  hnmanness,  the  kind- 
liness and  the  littleness  that  man  is  capable  of 
in  every  part  of  the  globe  ? 

•J  Then  read  The  Argosy. 

Every  month  a  long  book-length  novel, 
printed  complete— a  novel  by  some  such  writer 
as  Zane  Grey.  S.  R.  Crockett,  George  Wash- 
ington Ogden.  James  Francis  Dwyer,  E.  J. 
Kath,  Theodore  Goodridge  Roberts. 

•J  Also,  every  mouth  six  or  more  short  stories 
which  as  :i  group  average  better  than  those  you 
will  find  between  the  covers  of  any  other  maga- 
zine. To  say  nothing  of  a  novelette  every 
so  often. 

Q  Argosy  fiction  is  wholesome  fiction — grip- 
ping, vital  fiction— fiction  that  never  flags. 

And  always  a  c  t  i  o  n  —  action --  and  more 
action. 

<J  Buy  The  Argosy.  It  will  keep  you  reading 
-  keep  you  guessing — keep  you  jumping.  15 
cents  at  your  newsdealer's. 


IShe  ARGOSY 


Don't  Wear  a  Truss 

BROOKS'  APPLIANCE,  the 
modern  scientific  invention, 
the  wonderful  new  discovery 
that  relieves  rupture  will  be  sent 
on  trial.  No  obnoxious  springs 
or  pads  Has  automatic  Air 
Cushions.  Binds  and  draws  the 
broken  parts  together  as  you 
would  a  broken  limb.  No  Balnea 
No  lies.  Durable  cheap.  Pat 
Sept.  10,  01.  Sent  on  trial  to 
prove  it.  Catalogue  and  measure 
blanks  mailed  free.    Send  name  and  address  today. 

C.  E.  BROOKS,  1797  Brooko  Bldg.,  Marshall.  Mich. 


Diamonds  for  June  brides  and 
sweet  girl  graduates.    Buy  NOW 


lijt  diamond  lot  fW 
'Ait  oat il  you  get  tin 


1  wife,  s««thc 

nionry  —  buy  i 
II: 


:i  -  Da 

'  -.M.I  I  p 


Buy  direct  Irom  Importers  and  Save  Dealers'  Profits. 
We  nivr  Certified  Guarantee  with  every  Diamond- 
teeing  lis  weight  and  quality.    A  safe  way  to  l*y  aud  save  money —  . 
no  inconvenience  —  And  have  the  Osmond  new  when  yon  want  it.  \ 
Perfectly  cut  white  DlhtnoadS,  gleaim 

genuine  high  QwdJty.  K01  a  cent  to  pi 

aiuinrd  ihe  ll.atnond — then  if  you  are  perfc'llv  satisfied  pav  l/£d.!«rn 
and  take  the  stone  on  our  ea«y  terms  plan,    Wc  tend  you 
ningniltmg  £1.1*1.     Any  diamond  In  our 

FREE  ILLUSTRATED  0IAM0ND  AND  WATCH  CATALOG 

will  be  lent  loi 

Is  open  10  every  InnirM  ,  open  to  YOU. 

the  WOndcrfu|  values  *ho»n  here.    Compaie  t!i< 
prkrs  w  ith  others.     We  Import  the  rough  D 
monds,  cut  them  here,  save  4}  iter  c rnt  ,lu-\ 
Gae  the  saving  to  you.     Write  lifcda 
out  I   \  I  \l  i.  ii  Spe- 

cial World-Beating  Offers.  All 
nuimoniU.  ul»o  watch..*,    nn  .-a-)' 
twnw.     Send  fur  CnUlng  Uwlny  DC V 

THE  WALKER  EDMUND  CO  ^ 

piamosi.  iuroitrt:fLS 
Oapt.  A 
Stale  and  Madison 

CHICAGO. 
ILL. 


'"  a"SWer'H"  an»  "IvertUtmtnt  on   t*i,  page  U  *  *„,.„blr   ,„„,  „,,„    ,,,,„,,„   Al,.Sr(1Ili  VVki;km. 


ALL-STORY  WEEKLY — ADVERTISING  SECTION: 


A 


We  will  send  you  postpaid 
a  can  of 


— enough  to  polish  a  small  floor,  a  piano,  an 
automobile  or  several  pieces  of  furniture. 
Johnson's  Prepared  Wax  is  a  Complete  finish  and 
polish  for  all  floors,  linoleum,  woodwork,  furni- 
ture, pianos,  and  for  the  body,  hood  and  fenders 
of  automobiles,  limousines  and  electrics.    It  is 


very  clean  and  easy  to  use.  Gives  perfect  re- 
sult's over  any  finish — varnish,  shellac,  oil.  etc. 
Imparts  a  perfectly  hard,  dry,  artistic  finish  of 
great  beauty  and  durability.  It  is  impervious  to 
water,  scratches,  heel-marks,  finger- prints, dust 
etc.  and  can  easily  be  kept  in  perfect  condition. 


for  the  artistic  coloring  of  all  wood.    With  it  Dye  penetrates  deeply — is  economical — drieff 

inexpensive  soft  woods  may  be  finished  so  they  quickly  and  is  very  easy  to  use.    It  has  no  equal 

are  as  beautiful  as  hard  wood.   Made  in  seven-  for  finishing  new  furniture,  woodwork  and 

teen  shade*  including  Mahogany,  Mission,  floors  and  for  doing  over  old  work  of  this 

Early  English.  Fumed,  etc.     Johnion't  Wood  character— for  staining  basketry,  etc. 

" ~ ~  ~  ~ ~ ~  ~ " "~ ~ " ~Z       ""!         Free  Instruction  Book 

S-».  <  .  JOHNSON  «J«  SON,  U.i.  inc.  VN  is.  • 

J  encloses  for  Instruction  Book  on  Home  \  J,,e  ne"  e?ilio"  f  "\,r  *V  booklet  "  The 

Beautifying  and  a  can  of  Johnson's  /Ve/>arcd  1  £roP*r  Treatment  for  Moors.  \\  oodwk,  and 
Wfix-sufficicnt  for  a  small  floor,  an  automo-   \  ,  »r»J  off  t,,e  P««-  J^Uf.  W» 

bile,  a  ptano  or  setxral  pieces  of  furniture.  \  19  ,the.  ,w?Tk  of  ftt'nons  gWg^  1S-,  ul  °f 

r  ' -*  |  valuable  ideas  on  honw  beautifying — illnstra. 

Name   I  led  in  nine  colois.    Use  thec<»upon  for  a  copy. 

Address   |  S.  C.  JOHNSON  &  SON 

<  ity  01  State  ;         ,  kacine,  wis. 


KW.lt  I     U  Ii 


pint    mt  ii I iii ii    Au-Sniiit  Wcr.Ki.v. 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY 


Author  of  "The  Masked  Bride."  "Business  Is  Business,"  "  Mollic  of  the 
Movies."  "  The  Cosmic  Chord,"  etc. 


without  warning — being  hidden  behind 
the  post  until  the  instant  before  she 
darted.  There  was  neither  time  nor 
space  to  apply  brakes.  So  Mr.  Black- 
well  coolly  steered  the  car  into  the  post, 
smashed  one  head-light,  bent  one  mud- 
guard, and  got  a  sound  jolt  against 
the  steering-wheel  himself. 

People  screamed,  the  policeman 
from  the  corner  advanced  on  a  lively 
trot  and  arrived  just  in  time  to  catch 
the  Beauty,  who,  womanlike,  promptly 
fainted  when  the  danger  was  all  over. 
A  crowd  gathered  about  the  motor-car, 
from  which  young  Blackwell  had  de- 
scended —  to  make  his  way  to  the 
policeman's  side. 

"  If  you'll  help  her  into  the  car,"  he 
said.  "  I'll  get  her  out  of  this.  She'* 
not  hurt.    Just  frightened." 

The  policeman  recognized  young 
Blackwell  and  greeted  him. 

"  Yes,  sir."  he  said.  "  That  would 
be  best,  sir." 

It  was  near  six  o'clock  and  traffic 
was  heavy.  He  lifted  the  Beauty  as 
though  she  were  a  child  and  deposited 
her  beside  Mr.  Blackwell  in  the  dam- 
aged car.  Air.  Blackwell  tooted  his 
horn — and  running  slowly  at   first — 


CHAPTER  I. 
The  Accident. 

R.  OGDEN  BLACKW  ELL 
knew  exactly  what  he  wras 
doing  when  he  ran  his 
ninety-horse-power  roadster 
into  the  telegraph-pole. 

He  always  knew  exactly 
what  he  was  doing  and  why 
he  was  doing  it.  He  liked  knowing 
the  reason  for  things. 

All  of  which  proves  that  the  news- 
papers that  insinuated  that  he  was  not 
responsible  at  the  time  knew  nothing 
whatever  about  the  adventure.  Young 
Blackwell  himself  capitalized  the  word 
when  he  applied  it  to  the  affair. 

To  him  it  was  an  Adventure.  For, 
of  course,  there  was  a  girl  in  it.  and 
she  was  a.  Beauty.  Thai's  why  he  ran 
the  car  into  the  lamp-post. 

He  was  presented  with  the  alterna- 
tive of  running  into  the  post  or  run- 
ning into  the  girl;  and,  naturally,  he 
chose  the  post,  risking  his  car  and  his 
own  bones  without  a  second's  thought 
or  hesitation.  And  this  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  it  was  the  girl's  own  fault. 
She  had  darted  out  from  the  curb 


573 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY 


gradually  increasing  speed  as  the 
crowd  gave  way  before  him — disap- 
peared in  the  direction  of  the  bridge. 

He  had  been  headed  that  way,  aim- 
ing for  his  father's  place  on  Long 
Island  where  he  was  expected  to  dine. 
He  did  not  alter  his  course — not 
knowing  exactly  what  destination  was 
the  girls.  So  they  ran  on  for  a  block 
or  two  in  silence.  A  side-glance  in- 
formed him  that  she  was  recovering 
— that  she  was  quite  aware  of  where 
she  was  and  of  what  had  happened, 
but  he  did  net  look  at  her  directly 
until  she  spoke. 

"  If  you  will  set  me  down."  she 
said  at  last,  in  a  very  uncertain  voice. 
"  I — think  I  am — quite  myself  again." 

Then  he  turned  and  smiled  a  little. 
Ther*  were  still  tears  on  her  thick- 
dark  laches.    And  she  was  a  Beauty! 

"  \V.u  can't  walk  on  this  part  of 
the  bridge,"  he  said.  "  I'll  turn  and 
take  vou  back.  Where  do  you  want 
to  go '?  " 

™  I  am  sorry  I've  caused  you  so 
much  trouble."  she  said  wistfully. 
''  It's  all  my  own  fault.  I  ought  to 
have  been  killed!  I'm  afraid  you've 
wrecked  your  car  badl\." 

'\*>t  at  all."  lie  answered. 
"  Hardly  any.  in  fact." 

He  had  halted  and  was  waiting  an 
opportunity  to  swing  round. 

She  shivered  a  little  in  spite  of  her 
black  furs.  There  was  a  chill  in  the 
air.  with  the  first  flurry  of  snow.  Mr. 
F.lackwell  regarded  her  anxiouslv. 

"  Cold?  "  he  asked. 

"  A  little."  she  answered  frankly. 

because  I'm  tired.  I  think — and— 
hungry." 

He  accomplished  the  turning — then 
pulled  up  and  got  out  a  short  rof>e 
which  he  tucked  about  her. 

"  Don't  l>other,"  she  protested. 
"please.  If  you'll  just  take  me  as  far 
as  the  car-line  again.  1  shall  be  deeplv 
grateful  I'm  delaying  you— I've 
proved  too  great  an  inconvenience  al- 
ready." 

But  she  could  not  help  reveling  in 
the  warmth  of  the  fur  robe. 


It  was  a  tiger's  pelt,  beautifully  soft. 
Its  black  and  gold  suited  her  strik- 
ingly— for  she  was  slim  and  rather 
pallid,  with  great  dark  eyes,  and  dark 
hair,  just  visible  beneath  her  black  hat. 
It  was  a  rather  serious  face  at  that 
moment. 

"  I'll  run  you  home."  he  said. 
"  You're  too  badly  shaken  up  to  wait 
for  street-cars  to-night." 

'•  Please  don't.  I'd  really  much 
rather —  "     She  flushed  a  little. 

"  It's  bad  enough  to  think  of  your 
using  them  every  other  night,"  he 
growled,  looking  down  at  her. 

She  stiffened  a  little,  sat  a  little 
furtlu-r  from  him  and  remained  silent. 

"  What  address?  "  he  asked  grimly, 
as  they  left  the  bridge. 

"  East  Fifty-Fourth."  she  said, 
after  biting  her  lip  an  instant,  and 
added  the  number.  He  guided  the 
car  between  the  elevated  p«>sts,  turned 
down — and  presentlv  headed  west  on 
Fifty-Fourth. 

It  was  just  growing  dark.  Every- 
where, lights  were  beginning  to 
sparkle  brightly.  And  as  they  pro- 
gressed— the  rattle  of  wagons,  the 
thunder  of  the  elevated,  the  grinding 
rumble  of  street-cars  receded — leav- 
ing a  certain  quiet. 

They  felt  painfully  conscious  of 
each  other,  of  the  unusualness  of  the 
situation,  and  of  their  silence.  She 
spoke  first,  again. 

M  The  fourth  house,  there,  on  the 
other  side."  she  said.  And  as  lie 
turned  and  halted— she  threw  aside 
the  robe  and  stepped  down,  and  turn- 
ing—faced him. 

\n  arc  light  on  the  corner  revealed 
them  to  each  other.  He  saw  that  she 
was  very  slender,  daintily  made,  a 
sort  of  child-woman— and  that  she 
was  very  lovely.  She  saw  that  he  was 
big  and  strongly  modeled — and  she 
was  glad— localise  adventures  were 
rare  in  her  little  limited  existence — 
and  to  have  a  heroic-looking  man  for 
the  hero  of  this,  was  good  fortune. 

"  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me."  she 
said,  holding  out  her  hand  to  him, 


CINDER-EVE. 


679 


u  for  running  in  front  of  your  car  and 
making  you  wreck  it.  I  thought  I 
could  get  across  safely,  and  the  cars 
are  so  slow  and  that  one  wasn't  very 
crowded.  I'm  sorry — and  I'm  very 
much  obliged  for  your  kindness. 
Good-bv." 

"Good-by."  said  Mr.  Blackwell. 
"  At  least — good-by  unless  you  give 
me  leave  to  stop  in  upon  you  some 
time  and  convince  myself  that  you 
haven't  suffered  any  ill  effects  from 
Ibis — and  that  you  are  quite  all  right." 

She  flushed. 

"But  I  am  all  right!  And  I 
couldn't  think  of  letting  you  put  your- 
self out  any  further." 

w  But  I  should  enjoy  coming.  I 
really  should.  And  something  unex- 
pected may  develop." 

"Do  you  think  so.  really?"  she 
gasped.  **  But  I  wasn't  hurt  at  all. 
Only  frightened." 

"  To  be  quite  frank."  he  admitted, 
"  I  don't  think  you  will  be  any  the 
worse  for  your  experience — but  I 
should  like  to  come.    Mayn't  I?" 

They  looked  into  each  other's  eves. 

"No."  said  the  girl  quietly.  "I 
think  not." 

"Why?"  he  asked,  astonished. 

She  was  flushed,  uncomfortable, 
but  determined. 

"  We  don't  know  each  other."  she 
said.  "  The  fact  that  I — made  you 
run  into  a  lamp-post  hardly  consti- 
tutes an  introduction." 

*'  Oh !  "  said  he.  slowly. 

"  And  in  the  ordinary  course  of 
events,  we'd  not  be  likely  to  meet. 
You  must  realize  that." 

"  But  I  don't."    She  smiled  a  little. 

"  You  do.  but  you  don't  admit  it. 
I  am  a  stenographer — in  the  offices  of 
Grey  &  Bailey.  You  are  Ogden 
Blackwell,  son  of  Cyrus  R.  Bfack- 
well,  one  of  our  possible  presidents." 

"  As  though  any  one  cared  about 
such  distinctions."  he  scoffed. 

"  I  do.  I — don't  think  it — quite 
fair  to  me — to  continue  our  acquaint- 
ance." 

"Not  fair  to  you?"  he  repeated, 


leaning  towawl  her  over  the  wheel. 
"Why  not?" 

"  There  is  too  great  a  gulf  between 
us.  It  isn't  possible  for  us  to  be 
friends.  Our — friendship  would  be 
misunderstood  and  there  would  he — 
gossip — and  most  disagreeable  conse- 
quences to  me.  Oh,  there  are  many, 
many  reasons  why — we'd  best — let  it 
be  good-by,  Mr.  Blackwell.  I'm 
happy  to  think  you — you'd  like  to  be 
friendly.  And  now — I'm  cold  and  I'm 
tired  and  hungry — and  you  must  be 
getting  on  your  way.  Good-by." 

She  held  out  her  hand  again.  Again 
he  took  it  in  his. 

"  At  least."  he  said,  "  you'll  tell  me 
your  name.  I  must  know  how  to 
think  of  you.    And  you  know  mine." 

"  Oh,  you  are  a  sort  of  celebrity. 
Yes — if  you  like.    I  am  Eve  Neville." 

"  Eve  ?  "  he  repeated  slowly. 

She  nodded. 

"  And  once  I  had  an  ancestress," 
she  added.  "  who  was  called  Eve — 
and  who  permitted  herself  to  be 
tempted  by  what  she  ought  never  to 
have  had — and  she  was  punished. 
And  I  do  not  want  to  suffer  and  be 
punished,  so  I  shall  be  wiser  than  she. 
Good-by!"    She  turned  from  him. 

"  But — this — "  he  began. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said  again  with  an 
air  of  finality,  and  running  lightly  up 
the  steps,  disappeared  into  the  door- 
way. For  an  instant,  he  sat  still,  star- 
ing after  her  with  a  most  distressing 
sensation  of  disappointment.  Then 
he  slowly  tooted  away.  But  all 
through  his  long  ride  to  his  father's 
place  he  kept  thinking  of  her.  And 
afterward — after  he  had  changed  and 
had  descended  to  the  drawing-room 
to  be  presented  to  his  mother's  guests 
— and  later,  too,  when  he  sat  at  table 
— he  was  struck  by  the  contrast  be- 
tween this  sort  of  thing — and  the  life 
Miss  Neville  had  contrived  to  sug- 
gest to  him— by  the  little  that  she  had 
said  about  herself  and  her  world! 
Surely,  between  them  there  was  a 
great  gulf  fixed.  But  that  it  was  un- 
bridgable,  he  seriously  doubted. 


531 


ALL-STORY  WEEKLY. 


'•  For  some  hours  that  night,  after  he 
had  gained  the  solitude  of  his  own 
rooms,  he  sat  pondering  the  question. 
More  than  he  had  ever  wanted  any- 
thing in  his  life  he  wanted  to  know 
this  girl — to  see  her  frequently — to 
explore  the  secret  places  behind  that 
calm  white  brow  and  those  wide,  dark, 
tranquil  eyes. 

But  he  was  forced  to  admit  to  him- 
self that  there  was  something  behind 
what  she  had  said.  A'  friendship  of 
any  sort  between  them  teas  likely  to 
be  misconstrued.  In  the  end,  after 
several  sleepless  hours,  Mr.  Black  well 
decided  to  abide  by  her  decision  and 
to  forget  her  as  speedily  as  he  could. 

Whether  or  not  he  was  simply  de- 
ceiving himself  in  this  will  never  be 
known.  He  realized  that  to  press  his 
acquaintance  with  her  would  be  ta- 
king an  advantage — and  in  his  code  of 
honor,  gentlemen  never  took  unfair 
advantage  of  ladies. 

But  he  did  not  forget  her.  For 
three  days  he  tried — or  pretended  to 
try.  He  went  about  as  usual,  amusing 
himself,  or  trying  to  amuse  himself. 
It  was  a  sorry  business.  He  had  long 
ago  tired  of  most  known  forms  of 
amusement. 

Then  on  the  fourth  day  he  sent  her 
some  violets  and  a  note.  He  sent  them 
to  the  Fifty- Fourth  Street  house  in 
her  name.    In  the  note  he  said : 

My  dear  Miss  Neville: 

For  the  past  three  days  I  have  resolutely 
attempted  to  forget  all  about  vou  and 
ignore  the  fact  that  you  exist.  But  it  is 
simply  no  use.  I  can't  help  wondering  if 
you  are  all  right.  Couldn't  we  be  friends 
without  taking  the  whole  world  into  our 
confidence,  if  you  are  afraid  of  gossip? 
At  least,  mayn't  I  stop  in  just  once  to  see 
you  and  assure  myself  that  vou  are  well 
and  contented?  Be  kind.  Frankly,  the 
little  time  we  were  together  vou  interested 
me  very  much,  and  I  should  like  to  know 
you  better.  I  should  like  it  more  than  I 
nave  liked  anything  in  a  long  time.  If  we 
know  our  friendship  is  harmless,  does  it 
matter  about  what  other,  evil-minded 
people  suspect?  Please  drop  mc  a  line, 
reversing  your  decision. 

In  great  anxiety,  very  sincerely  yours, 
Oc.den  Blackwf.ll. 


To  this,  upon  the  following  day, 

came  her  answer: 

Mv  deak  Ms.  Blackwell: 

The  interest  you  feel  in  me  is  simply  the 
result  ot  the  glamour  our  foolish  little  ac- 
cident threw  about  me.  Analyze  it  your- 
self, and  you  will  agree  with  me  that  it 
could  be  nothing  else.  I  am  not  of  your 
world.  We  probably  have  nothing  in  com- 
mon.   You  are  a  gilded  idler.    I  toil. 

In  the  short  half-hour  we  were  together 
in  your  car  we  talked  only  such  common- 
places as  were  suggested  by  the  situation. 
To  be  sure,  1  am  pretty.  But  the  sort  of 
friendships  1  care  about  do  not  result  from 
the  prettincss  of  the  persons  concerned. 

Thank  you  very  much  for  your  violets, 
which  I  have  enjoyed.  You  must  not  send 
roe  any  more,  however,  and  you  must  not 
begin  to  lay  siege.  It  is  no  use,  frankly. 
We  cannot  be  friends.  1  should  like  to  be, 
but  we  cannot.  I  know  you  will  be  gen- 
erous enough  to  abide  by  my  decision  in 
this  matter  and  to  see  the  wisdom  of  it. 
Very  sincerely  yours. 

Eve  Neville. 

P.  S. — I  suffered  no  inconvenience  from 
my  fright,  I  assure  you.  Nothing  devel- 
oped.   Set  your  mind  at  rest. 

E.  N. 


CHAPTER  II. 
A  Business  Transaction. 

IT  is  the  nature  of  man  to  desire  that 
which  is  denied  him.    In  justice  to 
Blackwell.  it  is  necessary  to  admit 
that  he  would  probably  have  been  keen 
about  continuing  his  acquaintance  with 
Eve.  even  if  she  had  not  held  him  off. 

But  he  was  the  more  keen,  for  the 
obstacles  she  threw  in  his  way.  It  be- 
came little  less  than  an  obsession  with 
him  to  overcome  her  objections  and 
overtake  her.  He  set  his  wits  to  work 
to  contrive  this — and  being  a  clever 
young  man  when  he  bothered  to  be.  he 
evolved  a  scheme  that  promised  some- 
thing. It  was  revealed  to  the  lady  in 
his  answering  letter: 

My  dear  Miss  Neville: 

In  justice  to  myself  I  really  can't  per- 
mit you  to  underestimate  me  and  to  hold 
such  an  erroneous  view  of  the  situation 
existing  between  us.  It  is  not  because  yon 
are  pretty  that  I  desired  to  continue  your 


CINDER-EVE. 


581 


acquaintance.  In  our  conversation  the 
other  day  it  seemed  to  me  that  a  sort  of 
harmony  existed  between  us,  placing  us  in 
accord,  and  when  —  added  to  this  —  you 
mentioned  that  you  are  a  stenographer,  I 
was  seized  with  an  inspiration.  Let  me 
explain — in  absolute  confidence,  if  you 
please. 

To  begin  with,  I  am  not  the  idler  you — 
and  the  rest  of  the  world,  for  that  matter 
— suppose !  I  am  a  very  busy  man.  For 
some  time  I  have  been  engaged  in  the 
writing  of  a  novel.  And  try  as  I  may,  it 
has  seemed  impossible  to  get  hold  of  a 
stenographer  who  will  take  dictation  from 
me  without  interrupting  or  breaking  my 
train  of  thought  or  offering  suggestions 
or  precipitating  her  own  personality  into 
my  work.  I  was  at  my  wit's  end  when  the 
accident  happened.  I  had  just  discharged 
my  eleventh  stenographer  for  foolish  gig- 
gling !  It  struck  me  as — possibly — the  in- 
tervention of  Providence  when  you  in- 
formed me  so  casually  that  you  are  a 
stenographer.  Now  the  secret  is  out,  you 
see.  I  had  in  mind  to  offer  you  a  position 
which  would  be  better  than  the  one  you  are 
at  present  holding  —  providing,  of  course, 
you  proved  —  on  better  acquaintance  —  as 
much  in  accord  with  me  as  I  thought  you 
would. 

Now,  may  I  come  to  see  you  about  this? 
The  book  reallv  must  be  completed.  I  want 
your  answer  with  impatience. 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

Oguen  Blackweu.. 

At  first  he  had  thought  of  engaging 
in  some  sort  of  imaginary  business, 
but  he  soon  abandoned  that  idea,  re- 
alizing that  the  invention  of  business 
letters  eternally  would  lead  him  into 
difficulties.  Besides,  the  letters  would 
have  to  be  mailed — and,  of  course,  that 
wasn't  possible.  They'd  all  be  coming 
back  from  their  bogus  addresses  by 
way  of  the  Dead-Letter  Office. 

The  next  thing  that  occurred  to  him 
was  being  an  author.  He  knew  abso- 
lutely nothing  about  being  an  author, 
but  he  thought  it  would  not  be  a  diffi- 
cult task  to  pretend  to  be  one.  He 
assumed  that  every  author  is  different 
from  every  other  one  in  his  methods 
Of  work  and  so  on. 

Every  way  he  considered  the  matter 
an  author  was  the  easiest  thing  he 
could  be — requiring  the  sendees  of  a 
stenographer.  He  was  determined  to 
batter  down  the  barriers  between  them 


— by  fair  means  or  foul.  If  she  wftuld 
not  be  friends  with  him.  she  should  be 
his  stenographer,  and  the  world  could 
find  nothing  to  object  to  in  that — and 
tc  gossip  about.  All  men  had  stenog- 
raphers. 

However,  Miss  Neville  was  not 
quite  so  gullible  as  he  hoped  she  would 
be.    She  answered  simply: 

"  It's  no  use." 

And  signed  the  letter — if  you  could 
call  it  a  letter—"  E.  Neville." 

In  great  indignation  then,  that  very 
evening,  Mr.  Blackwell  called. 

Miss  Neville  resided  in  a  very  old- 
fashioned  apartment  house.  It  was 
four  stories  high,  and  she  lived  in  the 
top  apartment.  Finding  the  name  on 
the  bell  in  the  vestibule,  Mr.  Black- 
well  rang — and  when  the  ticking  at 
the  door  notified  him  he  admitted  him- 
self and  climbed  the  stairs. 

She  came  to  the  upper  door  her^e't", 
so  she  could  not  deny  him.  Before 
she  had  recovered  from  her  astonish- 
ment he  was  stalking  past  her  into  the 
drawing- room — and  there  was  nothing 
for  her  to  do  but  meekly  follow. 

"  I  have  come,"  he  announced  firm- 
ly, "  to  find  out  why  you  cast  such  an 
insinuation  at  me"  Have  I  deserved 
that  you  think  me  a  falsifier?" 

Miss  Neville  smiled  a  little,  reveal- 
ing two  very  notable  dimples.  And 
when  she  smiled  she  was  really  irre- 
sistible. 

u  I'm  sorry  if  I  offended  you."  she 
said  contritely.  "  But  your  explana- 
tion was  so  remarkable." 

He  glared  and  scowled. 

"  Is  it  so  remarkable  that  I  am 
writing  a  book?  Does  it  seem  so  un- 
likelv?  Do  I  appear  an  utter  im- 
becile0" 

"  Oh,  no,"  replied  Miss  Neville 
hastily.  "  but  you  don't  seem  at  all  the 
sort  of  person  who  writes  books.  And 
I — I'd  never  heard  that  you  were  en- 
gaged that  way.  And — "  Well,  it  all 
seemed  so  unlikely." 

"  That's  hardly  grounds  tor  insinu- 
ating that  I  am  inventing  reasons  for 
knowing  you."  said  he  indignantly. 


682 


ALL-STORY  WEEKLY. 


She  flushed. 

8  You  should  have  mentioned  it 
when  we  first  met — and  you  shouldn't 
have  sent  me  flowers.  That  led  me  off 
on  the  wrong  trail,  you  see.  Won't  you 

sit  down  ?  " 

They  had  been  standing,  facing 
each  other  under  the  central  chan- 
delier—Blackwell  10  evening  clothes,  a 
white  gardenia  in  his  buttonhole,  his 
gloves  still  on.  his  topcoat  open,  his 
hat  and  stick  in  his  hands.  Miss  Ne- 
ville was  in  a  simple  house-gown  of 
some  soft,  pale  pink  stuff.  And  she 
held  a  book — her  linger  marking  the 
place. 

"  Thank  you."  said  he.  seating  him- 
self a  little  stiffly  on  a  fat.  green-plush 
chair. 

"  You'd  better  lay  aside  your 
things."  she  added,  smiling.  "  I  sup- 
pose I  must  be  polite  now.  so  long  as 
you  are  here." 

He  rose  angrily. 

"  1*11  go.  if  you  prefer."  he  said. 

B  NTot  at  all.  I  told  you  I  should  like 
to  be  friends  with  you.  It's  only  other 
people  standing  in  the  way.  I've  so 
much  to  contend  with  as  it  is.  I  didn't 
fancy  complicating  things  any  more." 

She  was  taking  his  hat  and  stick. 
He  threw  off  his  topcoat  and  began 
to  draw  off  his  gloves. 

"  How  much  do  you  get  at  Grey  & 
Bailey's?"  he  asked.  "You'll  pardon 
the  question,  if  I  seem  to  be  taking  a 
liberty  I  ask  for  business  reasons 
purely." 

"  T  quite  understand."  she  answered 
slowly  w  i  am  paid  eighteen  dollars 
a  week." 

He  looked  horrified. 

"Eighteen?  And  what  are  the 
hours? " 

He  gasped  in  indignation. 

"  Eight-thirty  to  five." 

M  That's  criminal !  "  he  cried.  "  It's 
atrocious.  I  will  pay  you  thirty-five  a 
week,  and  yon  need  work  only  morn- 
ings." 

She  stared  and  then  laughed  a  little, 
and  shook  her  head  at  him. 

"  Don't  you  see?  "  she  said.    "  You 


make  it  so  hard  for  me  to  believe 

you." 

H  Why?" 

11  It's  too  much  money  for  such 
short  hours.  You  could  get  the  most 
experienced  stenographer  for  less  than 
that." 

"  But  I  refuse  to  pay  wages  that 
will  torment  my  conscience.  Besides, 
I'm  very  trying.  I'm  difficult  to  get 
on  with  when  I'm  in  the  throes  of 

composition.    You've  no  idea." 

She  opened  wide  eyes  and  consid- 
ered him  thoughtfully. 

"  Did  you  pay  your  last  stenog- 
rapher this  rate  ?  " 

"  I  pay  all  my  stenographers  at  this 
rate.'' 

"  And  still  you  find  it  hard  to  get 

suited  ?  " 

"  Almost  impossible.  Their — their 
personalities  annoy  me.  I  have  very 
bad  luck.  Perhaps  you  think  me  less 
susceptible  to  insignificant  details  than 
I  am.    I  have  a  sensitive  nature." 

She  smiled. 

"  I  might  prove  equallv  undesira- 
ble." 

w  I  am  sure  you  wouldn't.  I  was 
sure  of  it  the  instant  I  saw  you.  I  said 
to  myself — or  rather  thought — -  Here 
is  the  very  girl  for  you.  Here  is 
the  one  you've  been  looking  for  at 
last!  " 

"  Meaning  stenographer,  of  course," 
said  Miss  Neville,  flushing. 

"  Of  course."  cried  Mr.  Blackwell 
innocently. 

She  reflected,  toying  with  the  book 
in  her  lap  absently. 

"  Of  what  would  mv  duties  con- 
sist?" 

u  Taking  dictation  chiefly.  I  dic- 
tate the  book.  You  take  it  down  in 
shorthand  and  type  it  later.  Then  you 
return  the  sheets  to  me  for  revision 
and  correction.  I  can  work  only  in 
the  mornings.  I  work  very  slowly. 
Some  days  I  cannot  work  at  all.  These 
days  you  will  have  free." 

-  Are  there  letters,  too,  and  so  on?  " 

"  Almost  never.  I  attend  to  all  that 
myself." 


riNDER-EVE. 


583 


But  it  sounds  ridiculously  simple." 
You  would  like  to  try  it,  then  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Blackwell  eagerly. 
She  hesitated. 

"  Or  do  you  still  doubt  me  and 
my  reasons  for  persisting  in  knowing 

3ron  ?  " 

"  N-no — but  Grey  &  Bailey  have 
been  very  good  to  me.  In  a  way  I 
dislike  leaving  them.  And  1  may  not 
give  you  satisfaction.  I've  a  certain 
position  now  and  a  certain  fixed  in- 
come. That's  an  advantage,  you  see — 
especially  when  one  is  the  man  of  the 
family,  as  I  am.  This  household  rests 
chiefly  on  my  shoulders." 

"That's  rather  a  burden,  isn't  it?" 
he  said.  And  it  seemed  to  him  almost 
a  sacrilege.  But  he  carefully  kept  his 
feelings  to  himself.  "  How  many  do 
you  support  on  this  eighteen  dollars  a 
week,  may  I  ask?  " 

"  My  mother  and  my  sister.  She's 
still  at  school." 

"  Three.  It  seems  incredible.  T 
should  think  the  increase  I  offer  you 
would  be  a  great  advantage." 

"  It  would  be." 

He  leaned  toward  her. 

"  Suppose  we  agree  that  the  ar- 
rangement is  to  last  a  definite  number 
of  weeks.  Would  that  insure  you 
against  risk?  And  I'd  agree  to  give 
yon — say  a  month's  notice,  if  your 
services  should  prove  unsuitable.  But, 
of  course,  I  know  they  will  not." 

She  lay  back  in  her  chair,  studying 
him. 

*'  What  is  the  name  of  your  book?  " 
she  asked. 

Under  her  curious  eyes  his  glance 
rested  upon  the  carpet.  He  had  not 
thought  out  a  name.  On  the  spur  of 
ihr  moment  he  seized  upon  the  first 
suggestion  that  came  to  him.  The 
carpet  was  of  pale  green  with  pale  pink 
roses  on  it  and  yellow  butterflies. 

"Butterflies!"  he  said,  raising  his 
eyes  calmly. 

"  Butterflies?  "  she  repeated  curious- 
ly. "  It  sounds  very  attractive,  but  not 
at  all  unusual." 

"  It's  rather  difficult  to  get  an  un- 


usual title  nowadays,"  said  he.  "  Every- 
thing's been  chosen.  Oh,  I've  not  really 
settled  upon  4  Butterflies '  definitely. 
If  I  think  of  a  better  title  as  the  story 
progresses,  of  course  I'll  choose  it." 

"  I  see.  Is  much  of  your  story 
written?  " 

"  About  one-fourth."  he  replied  at 
random,  "  but  I've  been  thinking  of 
doing  even  that  over — and  of  making 
some  improvements." 

"  Tell  me  the  plot,"  said  Miss  Xe- 
ville.  leaning  back  in  her  chair  and 
clasping  her  hands  behind  her  head. 
Her  eyes  were  alight  with  eager  in- 
terest, her  red  lips  fell  a  bit  apart, 
there  was  a  tinge  of  color  in  her 
cheeks.  She  looked  very  lovely — and 
Mr.  Blackwell  found  some  difficulty  in 
keeping  his  head. 

"  I  shouldn't  think  of  it."  he  said. 
"  You'd  be  horribly  bored." 

"  Nonsense.  I  should  be  interested." 

"  Anyway,  I  tell  things  badly.  I'd 
much  rather  have  you  wait  and  find 
out  as  we  go  along." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  couldn't  have 
invented  a  plot  to  save  his  life. 

"But  just  the  general  theme?"  she 
suggested  wistfully.  "Just  in  a  word 
or  two.  You  can  outline  the  idea  of 
it,  can't  you?  " 

"  I  could,"  he  said.  "  of  course, 
but —  Well,  what  should  you  think 
the  theme  would  be  ?  " 

"  It's  not  about  real  butterflies,  of 
course,"  she  said  meditatively. 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  You  said  a  novel." 
\  e-es. 

"  So  it  must  be  a  story.  Ts  it  about 
gay  idlers  —  butterfly  people?  That's 
it.  You'd  know  a  lot  about  that  sort 
of  thing." 

She  beamed  at  her  own  perspicacity. 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  persist  in 
calling  me  an  idler  in  a  tone  that  makes 
it  an  insult,  especially  now  when  I've 
told  you  my  secret  about  the  book." 

"  I  didn't  mean  that  you  are  an  idler. 
I  meant  that  you  were  horn  into  that 
set.  you  know.  Was  I  right  about  the 
general  idea  of  your  story?" 


58i 


ALL-STORY  WEEKLY. 


"  Yes.    It's  a  society  story." 
*  A  love-story  ?  " 
"Of  course." 

He  was  very  emphatic  about  it. 

"Fancy  your  being  able  to  write 
love-stories/'  she  cried  womleringly. 
"  You  don't  look  at  all  like  it.  Are 
yen  writing  from  experience  or  from 
observation  and  imagination ? 

••  A  little  of  each."  said  he  wisely. 
w  Rut.  I  say,  haven't  We  talked  quite 
enough  about  me?  " 

"Have  I  been  rude  and  curious?" 
she  asked,  Hushing.  u  I'm  sorry.  I 
didn't  mean  to  be.  But  1  suppose  you 
do  dislike  talking  shop.  Most  of  us 
do." 

"  I'm  lots  more  interested  in  other 
things."  he  admitted". 

'•  NV»t  really  more  than  in  vour  own 
work?" 

-  We-ell.  n-no.  Rut—" 
I  understand.    You  get  so  much 
of  it  during  business  hours." 

14  Exactly." 
I  should  have  known  that."  said 
she.     but  you  see  I've  aspirations  to 
write  myself,  and  diat's  why  I  was 
interested." 

"  Not  really?  "  he  cried. 

She  nudded  proudly. 

"  But  we  won't  talk  about  it,"  she 
said.    "  What  shall  we  talk  about  ?  " 

"  Let's  talk  about  you."  he  sug- 
gested pleasantly 

She  smiled  and  shook  her  head. 

"  There's  nothing  about  me  to  talk 
of.    X- .thing  interesting." 

"Everything  about  you  would  in- 
fcefesl  me.  T'ru  Sure,"  said  he. 

She  opened  her  eyes. 

"  Why  should  it?  " 

"  Because  T  —  I'm  interested  in 
studying  people— types— for  my  book, 
you  know.    Everybody  interests  me." 

'  I  see — in  a  purely  professional 
way." 

n  \r „  _  •» 
i  e-es. 

"  But  I  don't  think  I  fancy  being  put 
under  your  microscope." 

"You've  nothing  to  fear,  surelv," 
said  he. 

"To  think."  she  murmured  irrele- 


vantly, "how  mistaken  people  are 
about  you.  They  think  you  a  useless, 
spoiled,  overrich  and  pampered  idler 
of  fashion — a  sort  of  Beau  Brummel 
— and  all  the  time  you  are  devoting 
yourself  to  writing  this  book  and 
studying  people  to  put  into  it.  It's  a 
sort  of  game  with  you,  isn't  it?  You 
can  find  out  more  about  people  by  pre- 
tending you've  no  reason  for  wanting 
to  know,  and  that  you  don't  care 
whether  you  know  or  not.  You  must 
be  awfully  clever." 

He  wasn't  quite  sure  whether  she 
had  seen  through  him  and  was  amus- 
ing herself  with  him — or  whether  she 
had  believed  all  of  his  fabrications. 

"  Do  people  think  such  uncompli- 
mentary things  about  me?"  he  asked 
curiously. 

"  You  know  they  do.  I  dare  say 
you  help  to  create  the  impression." 

"  I'd  no  idea  thev  thought  about  me 
at  all." 

"  Of  course  they  do — especially  just 
now  when  your  father  is  in  the  public 
eye  as  a  political  possibility." 

"  It's  a  disadvantage  having  a  cele- 
brated father." 

"  And  a  wealthy  one*  too."  she 
added  thoughtfully. 

"  What  makes  yon  say  that?  " 

"  It's  seldom  the  sou  of  a  moneyed 
man  has  any  ambition  to  distinguish 
himself.     He's    usually   contented  to 

spend  his  father\  acquisitions;"  " 

"  I  suppose  that's  true." 

"  That's  why  I  admire  you."  said 
she;  and  then  stopped  suddenly,  re- 
alizing that  she  had  said  more  than  she 
intended,  and  flushing  crimson.  He 
regarded  her.  fascinated. 

"  Thank  you."  he  said  slowly.  "  It's 
bully  of  you  to  say  it.  anyway." 

Me  w&S  sure  that  she  had  been  teach- 
ing him  a  lesson.  And  in  some  hu- 
mility and  discomfort  and  embarrass- 
ment lit-  rose. 

"  Mot  going?"  she  cried  sweetly. 

"  Yes.  I  think  I  must." 

"  But  you  must  meet  mv  mother 
first." 

She  moved  to  the  portieres  at  the 


CINDER-EVE. 


685 


door,  and,  turning,  nodded  slightly  as 
for  pardon,  and  left  him  alone.  He 
struggled  into  his  topcoat  and  began  to 
draw  on  one  glove.  Before  he  had  got 
it  fastened  Miss  Neville  returned,  fol- 
lowed by  a  small,  robust,  cheerful- 
looking  little  woman  dressed  in  black. 
She  had  white  hair  dressed  with  jet 
combs  and  white  collar  and  cuffs. 

"Mr.  Black  Well? "  she  said  cor- 
dially. "  Eve  has  spoken  of  you.  I'm 
very  glad  to  know  you.  Won't  you 
have  some  fruit  before  you  go? 
Eve!" 

"  No.  thanks."  said  he.  "  Really— 
not.    I  dined  late." 

"  Some  cocoa,  then?  It's  cold  out- 
side.   Some  cookies?" 

"  Another  time  gladly."  said  he. 
"  Vw  really  not  able  to  do  justice  to 
them  now." 

"  Don't  be  bashful,"  she  said  with 
twinkling  eyes.  "  But  I  take  it.  you 
are  not.  Very  well.  Another  time. 
We  shall  hope  to  see  vou  soon  again, 
Mr.  Blackwell." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Blackwell. 
"  Good  night!  " 

Mrs.  Neville  departed.  Blackwell 
took  up  his  hat  and  stick  and  preceded 
Eve  to  the  door. 

"  Good  night."  he  said. 

"  Good  night."  said  Eve. 

They  shook  hands. 

"  When  do  I  report  for  duty?  "  she 
asked  then. 

He  was  startled,  incredulous.  He 
stared  searchingly  into  her  eyes.  There 
was  no  mockery  there,  no  mischief,  no 
scorn.  She  had  evidently  taken  him 
seriously  after  all.  She  had  not 
pointed  a  moral. 

"How  soon  can  you  come?"  he 
asked.  "I  should  like  to  get  on  as 
soon  as  possible." 

"The  day  after  to-morrow?"  she 
suggested. 

"Splendid." 

"  And  where  do  I  report?" 
"  At    my  father's    house — up  the 
avenue.   I  have  a  sort  of  study  there." 
She  nodded. 
"  And  the  time?  " 


"  Nine." 

"  I  shall  be  there,"  said  Eve,  simply. 

Blackwell  descended  the  four 
flights  of  stairs  in  astounding  good 
humor.  And  that  night  he  could 
hardly  sleep  for  delight  at  the  success 
of  his  scheme. 


CHAPTER  III. 
Troubles  of  Another. 

HOWEVER,  the  most  serious 
drawback  now  confronted  him. 
He  had  got  a  stenographer  who 
believed  him  to  be  an  author — and  he 
could  not  even  compose  a  good  letter. 
If  he  would  keep  her  deceived  he  must 
speedily  develop  the  ability  to  reel  ofT 
endless  literary  matter — and  this  ne- 
cessitated the  memorizing  of  pages 
and  pages  of  somebody  else's  crea- 
tions. 

He  would  have  to  spend  his  nights 
in  study  in  order  to  keep  up  the  de- 
ception— or  so  he  thought  at  first. 
He  went  to  the  nearest  public  library 
and  asked  a  good-natured  librarian 
for  the  most  unpopular  but  interesting 
book  of  fiction  she  had.  stipulating 
that  it  must  chronicle  the  doings  of 
•ultra-smart  society. 

She  was  so  used  to  supplying  un- 
usual demands  that  she  expressed  no 
wonder  or  curiosity  at  this  one,  but 
simplv  classified- Mr.  Blackwell  men- 
tally "as  a  "freak."  The  book  that 
was  forthcoming  was  an  old  English 
novel,  in  six  thick  volumes,  written 
by  a  lady  named  Ann  De  Ortha.  and 
called  "The  Mistress  of  the  .Manse." 
Mr.  Blackwell  had  never  heard  of  it 
in  his  life,  and  after  reading  a  few 
pages  here  and  there,  he  fancied  that 
very  few  others  of  his  generation  had. 

Proudly  he  bore  his  treasure  home 
and  set  about  memorizing  enough  to 
form  the  fir^t  day's  work  with  Eve. 
But  he  had  flattered  himself,  ft  was 
easier  to  plan  memorizing  it  than 
actually  to  memorize  it.  After  two 
solid  hours  he  called  a  halt  and  sought 
some  means  of  escape  from  so  much 


586  ALL- STORY 

needles  labor.    And   he   who  seeks 

shall  tind.  .       .  .  |. 

Mr  Blackwell— i»ssessmg  himscir 

p|  his  father's  study— arranged  it 
after  a  manner  of  his  own  >n  prepa- 
ration for  the  morrow's  toil.  Since 
the  rest  of  the  family  was  still  at  the 
Long  Island  place,  and  only  the  ser- 
vants were  about,  there  was  no  one 
to  question  him. 

Upon  the  following  morning  Miss 
Neville  presented  herself  precisely  at 
nine,  and  was  ushered  by  the  footman 
into  the  study.  There  Mr.  Blackwell 
greeted  her. 

He  wore  a  lounge-coat  of  blue  vel- 
vet (especially  purchased  for  its  ar- 
tistic air),  his  dark  hair  was  tousled 
just  enough  to  make  it  look  careless. 
He  desired  to  create  the  impression 
that  already  his  mind  was  busy,  and 
that  hair  was  too  insignificant  to  in- 
terest him.  In  his  dark  blue  eyes 
dwelt  a  serious  and  soulful  look. 

"  Have  you  breakfasted?  "  he  asked 
as  Miss  Neville  removed  her  small, 
plain,  businesslike  hat  before  the  mir- 
ror, patted  her  hair  into  order,  and 
produced  her  pencils  and  a  note-book. 

"  Certainly."  said  she.  somewhat 
astonished.  "  Does  your  stenographer 
usually  breakfast  with  you?" 

"  Sometimes,"  said  he.  "  but  since 
you  have  breakfasted,  perhaps  we'd 
better  get  to  work  at  once.  1  want  to 
accomplish  a  great  -deal  to-day.  I 
feel  that  I  can  accomplish  a  great  deal. 
We  are  going  to  begin  at  the  begin- 
ning again." 

She  took  her  place  at  the  side  of 
his  desk,  ready  to  take  dictation. 

Mr.  Blackwell  rose  and  moved 
toward  a  screen  that  stood  in  one  cor- 
ner by  a  window. 

*  I  always  dictate  from  behind 
this,"  he  said.  "  T  get  self-conscious 
and  nervous  when  I  can  see  the  sten- 
ographer. I  feel  so  foolish  saving 
things  that  look  all  right  written. 
And  her  eyes  always  bore  through  me 
if  I  pause  a  moment  to  think.  Back 
here  I  can  pretend  that  I  am  alone  in 
the  room." 


WEEKLY. 

He  looked  at  her  anxiously  to  see 
if  she  was  crediting  him.  She  seemed 
to  be.    He  departed  behind  the  screen. 

"Can  you  hear  me  distinctly?"  he 
asked,  seating  himself  in  a  comfort- 
able chair,  arranged  for  him  before- 
hand, and  letting  his  eyes  wander  ap- 
provingly over  a  smoking  stand,  a  pile 
of  cigars  and  cigarettes,  a  cellaret 
supplied  with  liquid  refreshment,  and 
a  low  stand  on  which  the  four  vol- 
umes of  "The  Mistress  of  the 
Manse "  reposed.  The  first  volume 
was  open  at  the  first  page.  He  seated 
himself  comfortably,  drew  the  volume 
toward  him.  lighted  a  cigar. 

"  I  hear  you  perfectly,"  said  Miss 
Neville. 

He  glanced  at  her  suspiciously 
through  the  peep-hole  in  the  screen. 
She  was  bent  over  her  note-book  in 
an  attitude  of  deep  attention.  He 
paused  an  instant,  admiring  her. 
Then  he  began  : 

"  Butterflies,  a  four-part  novel  by 
Ogdeu  Blackwell." 

He  waited. 

"Yes."  said  Miss  Neville. 

"  It  was  a  clear,  cold,  starlit  night 
in  early  November,"  he  began.  He 
read  in  a  pleasant  voice,  glancing  up 
as  often  as  possible  to  watch  her 
through  the  screen.  "  Lady  Merri- 
man  emerged  from  her  coach — u  And 
so  on,  dictating  word  for  word  as  it 
was  written,  but  halting  now  and  then 
dramatically,  as  though  to  think  of 
what  he  wanted  to  say  next.  As  he 
read  Miss  Neville  took  it  all  down  in 
shorthand.  And  with  endless  satis- 
faction he  observed  that  she  seemed 
surprised  and  pleased  with  his  humble 
attempts  at  literature. 

As  a  matter  of  fact.  Mistress  Ann 
De  Ortha  had  not  an  uninteresting 
style,  and  her  tale — if  somewhat  sen- 
sational for  these  realistic  times — 
was  not  in  the  least  dull.  Mr.  Black- 
well  brought  it  up  to  date.  He  skipped 
the  long  descriptions  in  which  she 
seemed  to  revel  and  substituted  auto- 
mobiles and  private  yachts  for  coaches 
and  riding  parties.    It  was  amusing  to 


CINDER-EVE. 


587 


see  what  he  really  could  do  with  it. 
But  it  was  in  the  love  scenes  he  really 
scintillated. 

He  gave  them  with  such  force  and 
fervor  and  fire  and  emphasis  that 
Miss  Neville  was  forced  to  marvel — 
and  in  the  end — when  he  suddenly 
called  a  halt,  remembering  that  her 
fingers  would  be  getting  tired  holding 
the  pencil — she  congratulated  him 
warmly. 

"Are  we  through  for  the  clay?" 
she  asked  in  some  astonishment  as  he 
came  from  behind  the  screen,  running 
his  fingers  through  his  hair  in  a  truly 
literary  fashion,  and  wishing  that  it 
was  longer. 

"  Indeed  we  are,"  he  said.  "  How 
long  do  you  suppose  I  can  sit  in  there 
at  a  time  reading  that  stuff." 

"Reading  it?"  she  repeated. 

He  caught  himself  up. 

M  From  my  notes,  of  course.  You 
didn't  suppose  I  was  really  composing 
then?  Dear  me,  no!"  He  shook  his 
head  in  gentle  negation.  "  I'm  refin- 
ing it — polishing — improving.  If  you 
notice  any  inconsistencies  as  we  go 
on,  don't  fail  to  call  my  attention." 

"  I'll  not."  replied  Miss  Neville, 
putting  aside  her  note-book  and  pen- 
cils. "  And  when  do  I  tvpe  this, 
now?" 

"  Have  you  much  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Enough  to  fill  twenty  pages, 
typed.  I  should  say." 

"  How  long  will  that  take  you?" 

She  glanced  critically  through  her 
notes. 

"  Three  or  four  hours,  perhaps." 

M  You'd  better  do  that  to-morrow 
morning,  then.  We'll  go  on  that  plan. 
One  morning  we'll  dictate  and  on  the 
next  one,  type  and  correct." 

But  we've  the  afternoons?" 

"  I  never  work  in  the  afternoons." 
said  he.  "  I  don't  believe  in  overdo- 
ing anything.  You  can  do  better  if 
you  go  at  it  fresh  every  time.  Besides 
in  the  afternoons  I  gQ  about  to — to 
places  that  I  am  going  to  put  into 
the  story  and  get — well  what  we  writ- 
ers call  '  local  color  '—and  take  notes 


and  so  on.  This  afternoon,  for  in- 
stance, we  are  going  to  motor  to  a 
very  charming  inn  out  the  road,  and 
take  tea  and  watch  them  play  winter 
polo." 

"  We?  "  cried  Miss  Neville,  staring. 

"  To  be  sure.  I — I  shall  want  you 
to — take  notes,  and  remember  things 
for  me.    I — I've  a  rotten  memory." 

"Oh."  she  said  slowly.  "Then  I 
do  work  afternoons." 

"Didn't  I  explain  about  that?"  he 
cried,  astonished.  "  I  thought  you 
understood.  Of  course,  it  isn't  ex- 
actly work  because  it  is  entertain- 
ment, too,  in  a  way — and  all  that. 
But  I  shall  require  your  presence 
every  afternoon  and  many  evenings." 

"Evenings?"  she  repeated,  rising 
and  regarding  him  thoughtfully. 

"  Well — there  are  theaters,  you 
know — and  opera — and  the  gay 
cafes.  Mistress  Evelyn  and  the  Lady 
Esmerelda  Merriman  drift  through 
all  the  popular  gaieties." 

Miss  Neville  considered  him,  her 
pencil  pressed  against  her  full  red 
lips,  her  dark  eyes  grave. 

"  Let  us  understand  this."  she  said. 
"  My  time  is  going  to  be  all  taken  up 
— instead  of  just  the  mornings  as  you 
led  me  to  believe." 

"Did  I?"  he  cried  contritelv. 

"  You  did." 

"Well,  well."  he  exclaimed  un- 
easily. "  I — I'm  more  than  sorry.  I 
— I'm  afraid  I've  not  a  very  good 
business  head.  It  was  carelessness. 
I — suppose  we  raise  the  salary,  then, 
to  compensate." 

*'  Give  me  more  than  thirty-five?" 

"If  you  accepted  thirty-five  "thinking 
that  you  would  be  required  only  in  the 
mornings,  and  I  am  going  to  need  you 
afternoons  and  evenings,  too.  I  think 
a  hundred  is  not  too  much." 

She  laughed. 

*  aren't  much  of  a  business 

man."  she  admitted.  "  A  hundred  a 
week  for  an  ordinary  stenographer 
who  has  never  gotten  more  than  eigh- 
teen." - 

"Am  I  to  blame  if  people  haven't 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


lie 


ried 


un- 


appreciated you .' 
patientlv.  "  Yoti  are  not  an  ordinary 
Senographer.  Yoa  are  a  very  extra- 
ordinary  Ste  ** raphcr.  Wt  are  the 
most  extraordinary^  stenographer  1 
have  ever  employed." 

Which  was  quite  true. 

"In  what  way  am  I  so  extraor- 
dinary?" she  asked  artlessly. 

"You  sit  still.  You  don't  fidget. 
You  don't  giggle.  You  don't  inter- 
rupt, sniffle,  cough,  nor  sneeze. 

That  wasn't  at  all  what  he  meant, 
but  it  was  what  he  said — warned  by 
her  suspicious  eyes. 

"  It's  going  to  cause  comment, 
when  I'm  seen  about  with  you."  she 
said  slowlv.  "  You're  so  well  known 
—and  I — "I've  hardly  any  clothes  that 
are  suitable  to — going  about." 

"An  additional  reason  why  you 
should  have  an  additional  salary.  You 
wouldn't  have  required  the  clothes.  I 
take  it.  it  I  hadn't  insisted  upon  tak- 
ing you  about." 

She  flushed. 

"  I  think  I  shall  have  to  have  my 
in  -ther,  too.    It  is  only  fair  to  me."' 

"  Do  you  really  think  so? "  he 
asked  regretfully. 

"  Most  people  like  my  mother  and 
are  honored  to  know  her  and  to  be 
with  her."  said  Miss  Xeville.  "  She 
was  a  Hampton  of  South  Carolina." 

M  Dear  me."  said  he.  "  You  misun- 
derstand me.  Don't  do  it !  I  detest 
people  who  misunderstand  me.  I  sim- 
ply thought  it  would  all  bore  your 
mother  and  tire  her  out — and  I 
thought — well — somehow — the  pres- 
ence of  other  people  always  makes  me 
nx.re  or  less  self-conscious  and  unable 
to  work  well.  But.  of  course,  if  you 
can't  go  alxmt  without  your  number 
we  will  have  her.  by  all  means.". 

"I'll  think  it  over."  said  Miss 
Neville.  "  I  shouldn't  like  to  inter- 
fere with  your  work." 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door. 
Timmons,  the  aged  Black  well  butler, 
responded  to  Black  well's  u  Come." 

"Luncheon  is  served,  if  you 
please,  sir,"  he  said. 


*'  We'll  be  down  directly,"  said 
Blackwell.  nodding.  Timmons  de- 
parted.   Miss  Neville  stared. 

"I  am  lunching  here?"  she  asked. 

M  Surely.  It  would  be  absurd  for 
you  to  go  away  to  lunch  when  we  are 
going  out  immediately  afterward." 

"  I  see,"  she  cried,  nodding.  "I 
told  my  mother  I  would  be  back.  And 
she — we  have  no  telephone — and  she's 
apt  to  worry.  Naturally,  the  thought 
that  I — am  compelled  to — go  to  men's 
offices  and  rooms,  worries  her  a  lit- 
tle. She  doesn't  seem  to  realize  how 
well  able  I  am  to  take  care  of  my- 
self." 

"  We  can  stop  there  and  relieve 
her  anxiety  on  our  way  to  the  inn," 
said  he.    "Shall  we  go  down  now?'* 

They  went — Miss  Neville  observ- 
ing the  hallway  and  dining-room  with 
approving  eyes. 

Do  you  often  have  to  go  to  men's 
rooms?"  he  asked,  as  they  seated 
themselves  opposite  each  other  at  the 
small,  oval  table. 

"  I've  had  to  do  it  only  once  before 
— when  Mr.  Grey  was  ill.  But,  of 
course,  his  wile  was  there  and  so  on. 
It  wasn't  difficult  at  all.  It  was  very 
hard  to  come  here  to-day  though." 

She  confessed  this  with  a  faint  flush 
and  a  timid  smile. 

"Not  really?"  he  asked,  troubled. 

"  I  didn't  know  you.  you  see — and 
— you  acted — at  first- — at  least  I  got 
the  impression  that — you  admired  me. 
But  I  had  to  trust  you.  Your  offer 
was  simply  too  glorious  to  refuse — 
with  the  youngster  coming  on  to  need 
winter  things — and  thinking  of  board- 
ing school,  too,  and  everything.  Thir- 
ty-five dollars  a  week  seemed  like  a 
fortune  after  eighteen." 

"  But  it's  a  hundred  now — not 
thirty-five." 

"Nonsense."  she  cried,  her  dark 
eyes  widening,  her  color  deepening. 
"  I  couldn't  take  so  much." 

"  But  think  of  the  time  you  will  be 
spending !  " 

"  Amusing  myself.  It  isn't  such  a 
fearful  fate." 


CINDER-EVE. 


589 


"  And  the  clothes  you  will  require." 

"  That  is  a  consideration/'  she  ad- 
mitted. "  I  shouldn't  like  you  to  feel 
uncomfortable  on  my  account." 

14  A  hundred  a  week  it  is,  then," 
said  he.    "  That's  agreed." 

"Of  course  I  do  believe  all  you 
•have  told  me  now,"  she  said  slowly, 
"  and  I  suppose  you  are  satisfied  that 
you  are  making  a  good  bargain,  but 
it's  wonderful  luck  for  me  that  I  ran 
in  front  of  .your  car.  Heaven  knows 
how  much  longer  I  should  have  been 
tied  down  to  that  eighteen  dollars  a 
week,  and  the  sort  of  life  my  income 
necessitated — no  fun — no  larks — no 
■ — or  at  least — very  few  good  times." 

"  Please  don't,"  said  Mr.  Black- 
well,  wistfully. 

"  Don't  what?  " 

"  Don't  remind  me  of  all  that.  I 
can't  bear  to  think  of  it." 

"Why?"  she  asked  mildly. 

"  It's  such  a  beastly  world,"  he  an- 
nounced disgustedly.  "  Some  have 
too  much,  and  the  rest,  hardly  any  at 
all.  I've  had  more  than  enough  to — 
to  share." 

She  sighed. 

"  I  suppose  there's  a  reason  for  it 
or  it  wouldn't  be."  she  said,  philo- 
sophically. "  Only — we're  all  too  lit- 
tle to  see  the  reason." 

"How  old  are  you?"  asked  Mr. 
Blackwell  curiously. 

"  Twenty,"  said  Eve. 

"  You  don't  look  it — not  by  a  good 
deal." 

"Really?  I  feel  hideously  old— or 
T  did.  I  should  say.  Of  course,  my 
new  salary  rejuvenates  me.  We'll  not 
have  to  stint  much  now.  I  suppose 
you've  no  idea  what  stinting  means  *  " 

"We-ell.  No."  he  admitted 
gravely. 

It's  not  at  all  pleasant."  she  told 
him.  "  I — I  am  infinitely  grateful  to 
you  for  putting  an  end  to  it.  Can  I 
say  that  to  you  without  your  misun- 
derstanding? " 

"  You  can  say  anything  to  me  with- 
out my  misunderstanding."  said 
young  Blackwell. 


She  nodded  slowly. 

"  I  think  that  is  so.  You  have  a 
sort  of  understanding  look.  I  noticed 
in  your  book,  too,  your  knowledge  of 
character-drawing  seems  to  be  excel- 
lent— and  you  go  into  great  details  in 
description.  You  must  be  very  ob- 
servant." 

"  I  am,"  he  acknowledged,  non- 
chalantly. 

She  buttered  a  bit  of  toast  and  pop- 
ped it  into  her  red  mouth.  He  stared 
! — fascinated — wishing  that  she  would 
do  it  again. 

14  What  do  you  think  of  the  book 
as  far  as  we've  gone?"  he  asked. 
"  Frankly,  now?  " 

"  I  like  it.  It's  not  at  all  what  I 
expected  though.  You're  so  big  and 
strong  and  vital-looking.  Your  style 
has  a — well  a  soft  touch  I  hadn't  an- 
ticipated." 

"  Oh,"  said  he. 

"  Generally,  it  seems  to  be  a  lot  like 
Walpole's  '  Castle  of  Otranto  '  and  that 
school.    I  suppose  you've  read  them?  " 

"  Can't  sav  I  have."  answered 
Blackwell. 

"  You'd  find  them  entertaining," 
said  she.  "  And  instructive,  too. 
Nothing  is  more  instructive  than  a 
wide  knowledge  of  books." 

That  afternoon  they  motored  out 
the  road  to  see  the  winter  polo— Miss 
Neville  changing  to  her  very  best 
clothes  when  they  stopped  to  notify 
Mrs.  Neville  about  her  additional 
hours.  They  dined  at  the  Inn  after- 
ward, and  motored  back  to  town  to 
see  a  show. 

Then  they  had  supper — and  a  very 
weary,  though  very  happy  Eve  it 
was.  who  combed  her  long  dark  hair 
before  her  mother's  dressing  table — 
as  she  reported  the  day's  doings.  And 
yet,  it  was  not  a  sleepy  creature  who 
reported  the  next  day  at  nine.  Youth 
doesn't  require  so  very  much  sleep, 
and  after  her  years  of  '  stinting  '  the 
plunge  of  gaiety  brought  all  that  was 
fresh  and  joyous  and  young  in  Eve 
to  the  surface. 


690 


ALL-STORY  WEEKLY. 


She  was  a  girl,  after  all.  if  she  had 
borne  a  man's  burdens  for  three  long 
year*  Mr.  Blackwell  had  toiled  for 
an  hour  or  two  in  the  night  planning 
,he  portion  of  the  story  to  be  dictated 
next  day  and  deciding  how  it  could  be 

altered.  .  _f. 

Accordingly,  his  heroine,  Mistress 
Evelyn  Pomphrev.  niece  of  Lady 
Merfiman,  announced  her  intention 
of  visiting  the  shops— prior  to  a  visit 
to  the  States— and  Black  well  in- 
formed his  stenographer  that  he  knew 
nothing  of  shopping  and  must  learn 

So  that  second  afternoon  they 
shopped.  Miss  Neville  bought  clothes 
— at  first  demurring — objecting — ar- 
guing—but eventually  giving  in, 
when  it  was  agreed  that  the  sum  total 
Oi  her  purchases  should  be  subtracted 
from  her  weekly  wage. 

Mr.  Black  well  had  the  most  excit- 
ing time  of  his  young  career  selecting 
things  lot  her,   for  she  was  slender 
and  graceful   and  lovely — and  there 
was  nothing  she  couldn't  wear.  Her 
hair  and  eyes  were  dark,  her  skin  fair 
— and  already  beginning  to  lose  that 
colorlessness  that  he  had  marked  the 
day  of  the  accident.    The  cold  air 
may  have  whipped  a  tinge  of  color 
into  her  cheeks,  or  the  fact  that  the 
salespersons     exchanged  significant 
"lances  over   them,    mav   have  had 
something  to  do  with  it.    At  any  rate 
they  chose  hats — a  black  and  white 
fur  one — and  an  all-brown  one  with 
burnt-orange   plumage,    and    a  dark 
blue  one  of   unspeakable   chic,  and 
hair   ornaments    of  maline-and-gold 
embroidery,    and    aigrets.    and  an 
evening  wrap   of   black    velvet  and 
white  fur.  and  another  of  royal  pur- 
ple velvet  and  white  fur,  and  another 
all  white,  and  four  evening  gowns — 
a  white  one.  a  pale  yellow  one,  a  pale 
pink  one,  and  a  pale  blue  one — with 
slippers  and  stockings  and  gloves  to 
match — handkerchiefs,  blouses,  a  suit 
or  two — a  heavy  fur  coat  for  motor- 
ing, with  a  toque  to  match,  and  neces- 
sary odds  and  ends  of  jeweled  knick- 
knacks. 


Shopping  to  a  woman  is  like  some 
intoxicating  wine  of  marvelous 
bouquet — and  like  some  irresistible 
poison.    The  firmest  will  falters. 

So  despite  Miss  Neville's  initial 
struggles  to  oppose  him,  he  persisted 
— ordering  one  thing  after  another — 
until  her  heart  sank  at  the  thought  of 
the  money  they  had  spent — and  she 
dreaded  to  estimate  how  many  years 
she  would  have  to  continue  as.  his 
stenographer  in  order  to  liquidate  her 
debts!  But  he  shrugged  when  she 
mentioned  this,  and  remarked  that  she 
required  the  clothes  in  order  to  fulfil 
her  duties.  And  this  was  unanswer- 
able. 

That  night  he  agreed  to  her  sug- 
gestion that  she  remain  at  home  to 
try  on  her  new  clothes  and  dispose  of 
them  to  advantage.  The  thought  of 
losing  her  even  for  that  once  was  al- 
most unendurable,  but  he  yielded  re- 
luctantly and  spent  the  time  at  a  din- 
ner-dance, given  by  his  sister,  where 
he  regarded  all  the  ladies  in  attend- 
ance and  made  ungallant  remarks  to 
himself  about  them,  comparing  them 
much  to  their  disadvantage  with 
some  one  that  he  knew. 

And  he  got  away  early — realizing 
that  he  preferred  the  mere  thought 
of  her  to  the  living  presence  of  these 
other  women — and  back  he  went  to 
his  rooms,  to  sit  and  smoke  in  the  li- 
brary over  "  Mistress  of  the  Manse," 
and  plan  the  chapter  for  next  day. 
At  last  he  went  to  bed  determined  to 
dream  of  her,  and  was  very  much  an- 
noyed, upon  awakening  the  next 
morning,  to  find  he  had  not  done  so. 

Miss  Neville,  meanwhile,  had  been 
like  a  youngster  again — trying  on  all 
the  new  garments  before  her  mirror — 
while  her  mother  and  Frankie  looked 
on,  and  marvelled,  and  applauded. 

It  was  their  firm  and  fixed  belief 
that  F.ve  was  the  most  beautiful  per- 
son in  the  world  any  way,  and  that 
now.  with  these  clothes  for  a  setting, 
others  would  begin  to  realize  it.  And 
Eve  was  forced  to  admit  to  herself 
that  she  was  not  exactly  plain.  After- 


CINDER-EVE. 


591 


ward.  Frankie  had  been  permitted  to 
pin  up  her  curls  and  try  on  the  finery 
— her  airs  and  graces  sending  Mrs. 
Neville  and  Eve  into  peals  of  laugh- 
ter. Altogether,  the  top-floor  flat, 
at  number-— something-or-other  Fifty- 
Fourth  Street,  resounded  with  more 
merriment  than  it  had  seen  this  many 
a  clay.  Eve,  staring  at  the  stars,  later 
on,  her  cheek  pillowed  on  her  arm, 
decided  that  it  was  not  such  a  very 
bad  world,  after  all. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
Smoothing  a  Few  Wrinkles. 

MR.  BLACKWELL  had  been  seen 
about  with  a  beautiful,  young, 
and  unknown  lady  for  no  more 
than  a  week,  when  word  of  his  proba- 
ble entanglement  was  whispered  into 
the  ear  of  Cyrus  R..  and  that  gentle- 
man abandoned  his  business  affairs 
and  political  meetings,  postponed  his 
appointments  and  came  up  to  town  in 
haste  to  look  into  the  matter. 

Arriving  at  the  door  of  the  study 
one  morning  somewhere  about  eleven, 
having  been  guided  that  far  somewhat 
reluctantly  by  Timmons.  he  was 
amazed  to  hear  in  his  son's  voice : 

"  For  years  I've  loved  you  madly. 
Evelyn.  The  first  time  I  saw  you  I 
adored  you.  I  have  never  ceased 
adoring  you." 

To  say  that  Mr.  Blackwell  was 
startled  is  to  undershoot  the  mark  by 
a  great  deal.  He  was  far  from  ex- 
pecting to  find  the  object  of  his  dis- 
pleasure here  within  his  very  study — 
but  he  rejoiced  to  realize  that  he  had 
arrived  at  such  an  opportune  moment. 
Le  t  some  definite  understanding  be 
arrived  at  before  he  could  interfere, 
he  opened  the  door  without  knocking. 

To  his  astonishment  there  was  no 
sign  of  Ogden.  but  at  his  own  desk  sat 
an  exceedingly  attractive,  dark-haired 
young  woman,  writing  in  a  thick  note- 
book. 

She  glanced  up  in  some  surprise  at 
the  sound  of  the  opening  door  and 


surveyed  Cyrus  R.  without  enthusiasm. 
At  the  same  instant,  while  Cyrus  R. 
and  the  strange  young  woman  were 
taking  account  of  each  other,  young 
Ogden  Blackwell's  voice  sounded 
again.  Mis  father  now  discovered  that 
it  emerged  from  behind  the  screen. 

"  What  care  I  for  the  difference  in 
our  rank?"  Ogden  was  crying  val- 
iantly. "  Love  cannot  be  governed  by 
such  a  small  thing  as  earthly  rank." 

Cyrus  R.  nodded  slightly  to  the 
young  woman  at  the  desk,  entered, 
closed  the  door  behind  him.  and  ad- 
vanced. 

At  the  same  instant  there  came  an 
exclamation  from  behind  the  screen 
and  young  Blackwell  appeared,  rather 
flushed,  astonished,  and  somewhat  em- 
barrassed. His  father's  eyes  rested 
wonderinglv  upon  tousled  hair,  blue 
velvet  lounging  jacket — and  the  pencil 
thrust  behind  Ogden's  ear. 

"  I  beg  pardon."  said  Cyrus  dryly, 
removing  his  glasses  and  polishing 
them.    "  I  trust  I  am  not  intruding." 

"  N-uot  at  all,  father."  said  Ogden. 
"  My  father — my  new  stenographer — 
Miss  Neville.  Would  you  mind  wait- 
ing in  the  music-room.  Miss  Neville, 
please  ?  " 

Ogden  advanced  as  he  made  the  ap- 
peal. Kve  r<.-e  instantly  and  went  out. 
Father  and  son  were  left  alone  to- 
gether— but  not  exactly  face  to  face, 
for  Ogden  was  busy  selecting  and 
lighting  a  cigarette. 

"  Did  I  understand  you  to  sav — 
stenographer.  Ogden  ?"' asked  Cyrus 
R.  curiously. 

"Yes — stenographer."  said  Ogden, 
nodding.  And  he  blew  out  a  purr  of 
smoke.  "  Anything  wrong  at  Wood- 
lands t  " 

"  No."  said  Cyrus  R.  "  Evervthing 
is  moving  nicely  at  Woodlands,  but 
Grace  has  written  me  that  no  such  de- 
sirable state  of  affairs  exists  here. 
Hence  my  Visit." 

He  <at  down  in  the  nearest  arm- 
chair. cn.s>ed  his  legs,  fitted  his  finger- 
tips together,  and  '  regarded  his  son 
from  under  bushy,  grizzled  evebrows. 


592 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


He  was  a  remarkable  locking  man— 
this  Cyrus  R.  BlaekweH,  nomirtee  for 
Governor  of  the  State,  and  the  very 
probable  next  President. 

An  aristocrat  through  and  through 
—descended  of  aristocrats— yet  a  dip- 
lomat and  a  statesman— and  therefore 
democratic.  He  had  amassed  his  huge 
fortune  without  relinquishing  his  claim 
to  honesty  and  uprightness.  Now,  hav- 
ing won  wealth,  he  was  preparing  to 

achieve  glory.  , 

He  wore  the  conventional  frock- 
coat  and  soft  black  felt  hat.  the  old- 
fashioned  standing  collar  and  black  tie 
that  had  distinguished  him  when  he 
served  Ins  term  in  Congress.  His  hair 
was  gray  —  his  eyes,  too  —  and  he 
adopted  the  flowing  mustache  and 
goatee  of  the  South,  from  whence  he 
had  come. 

"  I  see."  said  Ogden.  "  And  what 
i-  troubling  Grace?  " 

"  You  are  troubling  Grace."  an- 
swered his  father  mildly.  u  It  appears 
that  you  have  gotten  yourself  en- 
tangled some  way — or  at  least  you 
have  been  seen  about  rather  frequently 
with  some  one  Grace  doesn't  know, 
and  she  is  a  little  worried." 

I  >ee."  said  Ogden.  smiling. 

"  \To  doubt."  assented  his  father. 
-  Well,  what  have  vou  to  sav  about 
it?" 

"  Grace  is  right,  of  course."  the 
younger  man  replied.  "  I've  been 
about  with  Miss  Neville." 

"  Your — eh — stenographer?  " 

He  smiled  a  little  over  the  word. 

"  Exactly.  Also.  I  have  to  say  that 
I  am  intending  to  marry  Miss  Neville 
— as  soon  as  I've  persuaded  her  to 
accept  me." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Cyrus  R.  curiously. 
u  This  is  news!  " 

Ogden  seated  himself  opposite  his 
father  and  waited. 

"  Who  is  Miss  Neville,  if  T  may  ask 
— besides  being  your  stenographer?" 
asked  Cyrus  R.  finally,  seeing  that  he 
would  have  to  break  the  silence. 

"  Nobody  that  you  know — or  that 
any  of  us  know.    Her  father  was  a 


lawyer  in  the  middle  West.  Her 
mother  was  a  Hampton  of  South 
Carolina.  She  was  in  school  until  her 
father  died — three  years  ago.  Then 
she  studied  typing,  and  stepped  into 
her  father's  shoes  as  man-of-the- 
family." 

"I  see" — laconically.  "And  for 
how  long  have  you  been  assisting  her 
in  this  respect  ?  " 

lie  glanced  about  the  room. 

"  About  a  week."  said  Ogden. 
Swiftly  he  explained  the  circumstances 
of  his  meeting  with  Eve,  her  attitude 
toward  him.  and  the  means  he  devised 
for  continuing  her  acquaintance. 

"  Dear  me."  said  Cyrus  R.  at  the 
end  of  the  recital.  "  Now  I  begin  to 
understand.  The  —  the  impassioned 
love  utterances  that  I  overheard  from 
the  hallway  were  merely  cribbed  from 
this  book  you  are  supposed  to  be 
writing?  " 

"  Exactly." 

Cyrus  Blackwell  smiled. 

"  A  very  ingenious  arrangement," 
he  admitted.  "  A  very  pretty  girl,  too. 
But.  of  course,  the  idea  of  your  marry- 
ing her.  my  boy,  is  quite  out  of  the 
question." 

Ogden  rose  in  some  excitement. 

"  And  why  so?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Because  she  is  not  of  your  station 
in  life.  Marriages  of  persons  in  dif- 
ferent stations  almost  never  end  hap- 
pily. And  I  want  your  marriage  to 
end  happily." 

"  What  have  stations  to  do  with 
it?"  cried  Ogden  disgustedly. 

"  They  determine  one's  view-point 
— one's  tastes,  preferences,  habits, 
ideas — one's  attitude  toward  life.  All 
these  things  arc  of  inestimable  im- 
portance." 

"Rot!"  said  Ogden.  "The  only 
thing  that  counts  is  —  if  two  people 
care  for  each  other — care  enough  to  go 
through  with  it.  make  the  necessary 
sacrifices,  put  up  with  the  necessary 
inconveniences." 

Cyrus  R.  shook  his  head. 

"  I  expect  to  be  the  next  Governor 
of  New  York  State.  Ogden — and  then 


CINDER-EVE. 


593 


President  of  the  United  States.  I  think 
you  are  overlooking  that !  " 

"  I  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do 
with  my  marrying? M  cried  Ogden, 
opening  his  eyes. 

M  I  had  planned  a  more  ambitious 
marriage  for  you." 

"  I  am  not  seeking  to  further  my 
ambitions  —  or  yours  —  in  my  mar- 
riage," said  Ogden.  "  I'm  intending 
to  gain  my  own  happiness." 

But  not  at  the  expense  of  mine, 
your  mother's,  and  Grace's." 

M  No.  Nor  will  I  expect  them  to 
interfere  with  me.  How  can  my  mar- 
riage to  Eve  prevent  your  election  ?  " 

Cyrus  R.  smiled. 

"  I  didn't  intend  to  insinuate  that  it 
can.  But  by  allying  ourselves  in  this 
fashion  we  lose  prestige.  I  must  urge 
you,  my  boy,  to  think  twice  before  you 
do  this  thing." 

"  I  have  no  need  to  think  any  more," 
said  Ogden.    "  I've  decided." 

"  Has  it  occurred  to  you  that  all  of 
your  income  is  derived  from  me?  " 

Ogden  flushed. 

"  Not  all  of  it,"  he  said.  u  I  have 
something  from  grandmother.  But  if 
it  zvcre  all  from  you — and  you  were  to 
cut  me  off — do  you  suppose  that  would 
compel  me  to  change  my  mind?  Do 
you  suppose  I'm  that  worthless?  " 

Cyrus  R.  smiled  gently. 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  are  worthless 
at  all.  I  am  assuming  that  you  are 
sensible." 

"  I  dare  say  I  can  work  at  some- 
thing" said  Ogden.  "  I've  intelligence 
and  strength;  and  other  men  "seem  to 
be  able  to  get  on — men  infinitely  less 
equipped  than  I  am." 

Cyrus  R.  stared. 

4i  You*d  actually  displease  me.  de- 
prive yourself  of  your  income,  and  go 
out  and  work  for  this  girl  ?  " 

"  I  would."  said  Ogden  decidedly. 

"  You  must  be  in  love  with  her." 

"  J  am."  said  Ogden.  flushing. 

A  little  silence  fell  between  them. 
Black-well.  Sr.,  rose  and  stood  con- 
sidering his  son  thoughtfully. 

"  I«  three  days,"  he  said,  "  we  are 

2  A-S 


closing  Woodlands  and  are  coming 
back  to  town.  I  shall  expect  you  to 
give  me  your  final  decision  then." 

"  Whenever  you  like,"  said  Ogden. 

"  Have  you  the  least  idea  what  you 
could  do — what  it  would  be  like  to 
earn  your  own  living ;  what  you  would 
be  worth  to  any  one  ? "  asked  his 
father,  smiling  gently. 

"4  No — but  it  can  do  no  harm  to  find 
out.  I'm  beginning  to  think  I  might 
be  a  lot  better  off  if  I  had  to  struggle 
for  myself." 

"  Humph !  "  said  his  father  slowly. 
"  Well,  you'll  be  given  the  opportunity, 
if  you  persist  in  this  nonsense !  " 

He  put  on  his  hat. 

'*  Until  Thursday,  then,"  he  said. 

Ogden  nodded,  and  Cyrus  R.  Black- 
well  passed  out. 

Young  Blackwell  waited  until  he 
heard  the  front  door  close.  Then  he 
started  toward  the  music  -  room  —  bvA 
Miss  Neville  met  him  half-way.  They 
came  face  to  face  on  the  stairs  and 
stopped — regarding  each  other. 

"  I  heard  the  door  close,"  said  Eve. 
"  I  thought  you'd  be  wanting  me 
again." 

"  I  was  just  coming  for  you."  he 
answered.  His  eyes  were  searching 
her  face  intently. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  asked.  "  Is  any- 
thing wrong?  " 

He  nodded. 

"  My  father  has  just  notified  me  of 
his  intention  to  cut  off  my  allowance." 
She  opened  wide  eves. 
"Why?  " 

"  Because  he  thinks  I  mean  to  marry 
vou." 

14  What-at?"  she  gasped.  "  Why- 
How  absurd'  How  can  he  think  such 
a  thing!  " 

She  was  flushed,  breathless,  wide- 
eved. 
'  "  I  told  him." 

"  You  told  him?" 

Young  Blackwell  nodded. 

"  Oh,  his  curiosity  was  aroused.  He 
had  heard  we'd  been  going  about  a  lot 
together.  He  was  anxious,  so  I — I 
told  him  that  I  meant  to  marry  you 


5<>2 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


He  was  a  remarkable  looking  man— 
this  Cyrus  R.  Blackwell.  nominee  for 
governor  of  the  State,  and  the  very 
probable  next  President. 

An  aristocrat  through  and  through 
—descended  of  aristocrats— yet  a  dip- 
lomat and  a  statesman— and  therefore 
democratic.  He  had  amassed  his  huge 
fortune  with. mt  relinquishing  his  claim 
to  honesty  and  uprightness.  Xow,  hav- 
ing won 'wealth,  he  was  preparing  to 

achieve  glory.  t  . 

He  wore  the  conventional  t rock- 
coat  and  soft  black  felt  hat.  the  old- 
fashioned  standing  collar  and  black  tie 
that  had  distinguished  him  when  he 
served  his  term  in  Congress.    His  hair 

was  gra\  his  eyes,  too  —  and  he 

adopted  the  flowing  mustache  and 
goatee  of  the  South,  from  whence  he 
Egd  come. 

"  I  see."  said  Ogden.  "  And  what 
is  troubling  Grace?" 

*•  You  are  troubling  Grace,"  an- 
swered his  father  mildly.  "  It  appears 
that  you  have  gotten  yourself  en- 
tangled some  way — or  at  least  you 
have  been  seen  about  rather  frequently 
with  some  one  Grace  doesn't  know, 
and  she  is  a  little  worried." 

"I  see,"  said  Ogden.  smiling. 

"  No  doubt."  assented  his  father. 
"  Well,  what  have  you  to  say  about 
it?" 

14  Grace  is  right,  of  course,"  the 
younger  man  replied.  "  Pve  been 
about  with  Miss  Neville." 

"  Your — eh — stenographer?  " 

He  smiled  a  little  over  the  word. 

"  Exactly.  Also,  I  have  to  say  that 
I  am  intending  to  marry  Mis-*  Neville 
— as  soon  as  Pve  persuaded  her  to 
accept  me." 

"  Indeed/'  said  Cvrus  R.  curiously. 
"This  is  news!" 

Ogden  seated  himself  opposite  his 
father  and  waited. 

"  Who  is  Miss  Neville,  if  T  may  ask 
— besides  being  your  stenographer ?  " 
asked  Cyrus  R.  finally,  seeing  that  he 
Would  have  to  break  the  silence. 

"  Nobody  that  you  know — or  that 
any  of  us  know.    Her  father  was  a 


lawyer  in  the  middle  West.  Her 
mother  was  a  Hampton  of  South 
Carolina.  She  was  in  school  until  her 
father  died — three  years  ago.  Then 
she  studied  typing,  and  stepped  into 
her  father's  shoes  as  man-of-the- 
familv." 

"I  see  "  —  laconically.  "And  for 
how  long  have  you  been  assisting  her 
in  this  respect  ? 

He  glanced  about  the  room. 

"About  a  week."  said  Ogden. 
Swiftly  he  explained  the  circumstances 
of  his  meeting  with  Eve,  her  attitude 
toward  him.  and  the  means  he  devised 
for  continuing  her  acquaintance. 

"  Dear  me."  said  Cyrus  R.  at  the 
end  of  the  recital.  u  Now  I  begin  to 
understand.  The  —  the  impassioned 
love  utterances  that  I  overheard  from 
the  hallway  were  merely  cribbed  from 
this  book  you  are  supposed  to  be 
writing  ?  " 

"  Exactly." 

Cyrus  Blackwell  smiled. 

"  A  very  ingenious  arrangement," 
he  admitted.  u  A  very  pretty  girl.  too. 
But.  of  course,  the  idea  of  your  marry- 
ing her,  my  boy,  is  quite  out  of  the 
question." 

Ogden  rose  in  some  excitement. 

"  And  Why  so?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Because  she  is  not  of  your  station 
in  life.  Marriages  of  persons  in  dif- 
ferent stations  almost  never  end  hap- 
pily. And  I  want  your  marriage  to 
end  happily." 

"  What  have  stations  to  do  with 
it?"  cried  Ogden  disgustedly. 

"  They  determine  one's  view-point 
— one's  tastes,  preferences,  habits, 
ideas — one's  attitude  toward  life.  All 
these  things  are  of  inestimable  im- 
portance." 

"Rot!"  said  Ogden.  "The  only 
thing  that  counts  is  —  if  two  people 
care  for  each  other — care  enough  to  go 
through  with  it.  make  the  necessary 
sacrifices,  put  up  with  the  necessary 
inconveniences." 

Cyrus  R.  shook  his  head. 

"  I  expect  to  be  the  next  Governor 
of  New  York  State,  Ogden — and  then 


President  of  the  United  States.  I  think 
you  are  overlooking  that !  - 

"I  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do 
with  my  marrying?"  cried  Ogden, 
opening  his  eyes. 

"  I  had  planned  a  more  ambitious 
marriage  for  you." 

"  I  am  not  seeking  to  further  my 
ambitions  —  or  yours  —  in  my  mar- 
riage," said  Ogden.  "  I'm  intending 
to  gain  my  own  happiness." 

"  But  not  at  the  expense  of  mine, 
your  mother's,  and  Grace's." 

"  No.  Nor  will  I  expect  them  to 
interfere  with  me.  How  can  my  mar- 
riage to  Eve  prevent  your  election?  " 

Cyrus  R.  smiled. 

"  I  didn't  intend  to  insinuate  that  it 
can.  But  by  allying  ourselves  in  this 
fashion  we  lose  prestige.  I  must  urge 
you.  my  boy,  to  think  twice  before  you 
do  this  thing." 

"  I  have  no  need  to  think  any  more," 
said  Ogden.    "  I've  decided." 

"  Has  it  occurred  to  you  that  all  of 
your  income  is  derived  from  me?  " 

Ogden  flushed. 

"  Not  all  of  it,"  he  said.  "  I  have 
something  from  grandmother.  But  if 
it  viere  all  from  you — and  yon  were  to 
cut  me  off — do  you  suppose  that  would 
compel  me  to  change  my  mind?  Do 
you  suppose  I'm  that  worthless?  " 

Cyrus  R.  smiled  gently. 

M  I  don't  suppose  you  are  worthless 
at  all.  I  am  assuming  that  you  are 
sensible." 

"*  I  dare  say  I  can  work  at  some- 
thing." said  Ogden.  "  I've  intelligence 
and  strength;  and  other  men 'seem  to 
be  able  to  get  on — men  infinitely  less 
equipped  than  T  am." 

Cyrus  R.  stared. 

"  You'd  actually  displease  me,  de- 
prive yourself  of  your  income,  and  go 
out  and  work  for  this  girl?" 

"  I  would,"  said  Ogden  decidedly. 
"  Vou  must  be  in  love  with  her." 
"  I  am."  said  Ogden,  flushing. 
A  little  silence  fell  between  them. 
Blackwell,  Sr.,  rose  and  stood  con- 
sidering his  son  thoughtfully. 

"  Tn   tlirff   daiira  "   Vie  " 


CINDER-EVE. 


533 


In  three  days,' 

2  A-S 


he  said,  "  we  are 


closing  Woodlands  and  are  coming 
back  to  town.  I  shall  expect  you  to 
give  me  your  final  decision  then." 

"  Whenever  you  like,"  said  Ogden. 

"  Have  you  the  least  idea  what  you 
could  do — what  it  would  be  like  to 
earn  your  own  living ;  what  you  would 
be  worth  to  any  one?"  asked  his 
father,  smiling  gently. 

"  No — but  it  can  do  no  harm  to  find 
out.  I'm  beginning  to  think  I  might 
be  a  lot  better  off  if  I  had  to  struggle 
for  myself." 

"  Humph !  "  said  his  father  slowly. 
"  Well,  you'll  be  given  the  opportunity, 
if  you  persist  in  this  nonsense!" 

He  put  on  his  hat. 
Until  Thursday,  then,"  he  said. 

Ogden  nodded,  and  Cyrus  R.  Black- 
well  passed  out. 

Young  Blackwell  waited  until  he 
heard  the  front  door  close.  Then  he 
started  toward  the  music  -  room  —  but 
Miss  Neville  met  him  half-way.  They 
came  face  to  face  on  the  stairs  and 
stopped — regarding  each  other. 

"  I  heard  the  door  close."  said  Eve. 
"  I  thought  you'd  be  wanting  me 
again." 

i{  I  was  just  coming  for  you."  he 
answered.    His  eyes  were 
her  face  intently. 

u  What  is  it?  "  she  asked.  "  Is  any- 
thing wrong?  " 

He  nodded. 

"  My  father  has  just  notified  me  of 
his  intention  to  cut  off  my  allowance." 
She  opened  wide  eves. 
"  Why?  " 

"  Because  he  thinks  I  mean  to  marry 
vou." 

"  U'hat-at?  "  she  gasped.  "  Why- 
How  absurd!  How  can  he  think  such 
a  thing!  " 

She  was  flushed,  breathless,  wide- 
eved. 
'  "I  told  him." 

"  You  told  him?" 

Young  Blackwell  nodded. 

1  Oh.  his  curiosity  was  aroused.  He 
had  heard  we'd  been  going  about  a  lot 
together.  He  was  anxious,  so  T — I 
told  him  that  I  meant  to  marry  you 


searching 


591 


ALL-STORY  WEEKLY. 


as  soon  as  I  could  persuade  you  to 

accept  roc  ,     , .  .. 

"  Please"  she  said.  "  ^  ou  shouldn  t 

say  these  things  to  mc." 
""You   asked   me   what   had  gone 

wrong."  ■     '.fZ  , 

She  drew  a  deep  breath— glanced  up 

at  trim,  £ 

"  But  it  I  don't  marry  you.  sue 
said.  "lie  won't  disinherit  you:  and 
I'm  not  intending  to  marry  you— so 
nothing  is  wrong  after  all."  . 

•  V.»u  are  g"ing  to  marry  me.  he 
said :  "  and  to  —  somewhere  or  other 
with  his  money  ! . 

"  I  am  not  going  to  marry  you,  she 
said.  "  Do  you  want  me  again  to-day, 
Mr.  Black  well— or  may  I  go?" 

•  1  want  you — not  only  to-day  but 
always."  said  he.  "  and  you  may  never 
go  with  my  permission." 

She  flushed. 

"Have  you  forgotten."  she  asked, 
"  that  I  am  here — quite    alone  with 

you  ?  n 

What  of  that?"  he  cried  im- 
patiently. "  Am  I  to  pretend  I'm  not 
in  love  with  you  just  because  we  don't 
happen  to  be  chaperoned?" 

"  You  are  taking  advantage  of  my 
presence  here  to  say  things  that  I  pre- 
fer not  to  hear."  she  answered 
gravely. 

He  hesitated  an  instant  in  silence, 
look i jig  down  at  her.  Then  he  said 
gravely: 

"  W  ill  you  come  up  to  the  study  an 
instant,  please?  " 

She  nodded. 
Certainly,"  she  said. 

He  lead  the  way.  When  they  had 
entered  the  rowm  and  the  door  was 
dosed  behind  them,  he  said: 

"  Pfeai  e  lake  a  letter  for  me." 

"  A  letter?  "  she  repeated. 

"  Do  y-ni  mind  ?  " 

'*  Certainly  not." 

She  drew  a  sheet  of  paper  toward 
her  and  selecting  her  sharpest  pencil, 
waited. 

"  Dear  Miss  Neville :  "  he  began. 
She  looked  up  blankly. 
u  Please—  "  she  began. 


"Won't  you  take  my  letter?"  he 

asked. 

She    hesitated,     flushed    a  little, 

shrugged. 

"  I  am  writing  this,"  he  dictated, 
"  to  tell  you  that  I  love  you  and  that 
I  want  to  marry  you.  I've  loved  you 
since  the  instant  I  saw  you  in  front  of 
my  car  on  Fifty-Ninth  Street.  I  lied 
about  being  an  author  and  needing 
you.    I— " 

"If  you  are  going  to  explain  all 
that."  said  Eve,  "  you  are  merely 
wasting  time.  She  knows  it.  She 
read  'The  Mistress  of  the  Manse' 
years  ago  and  remembered  it  quite 
well." 

"  Eve !  "  he  cried,  advancing. 

She  put  aside  her  pad  and  pencil. 

"  Let's  be  sensible."  she  said. 
"  Wait.  Don't  come  near  me.  please, 
until  you  hear  what  I  have  to  say.  I 
knew  you  were  just  pretending  to  be 
an  author.  I  let  you.  because  I — I 
was  as  anxious  to  see  you  again  as 
you  could  possibly  have  been  to  see 
me." 

He  took  both  her  hands  in  his.  She 
struggled  to  free  them. 

"  Please !  "  she  cried.  "  You 
mustn't.  I  could  never,  never  marry 
you  without  your  father's  consent." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  T  couldn't  deprive  you  of  so  much 
money.    You'd  hate  me  afterward." 

"  Nonsense.  Do  you  think  I  care 
about  money.  I  can  earn  enough  for 
both  our  needs.  I  don't  know  how. 
I've  never  tried  out.  But  know  that 
I  can.  You  don't  care  about  the 
money,  do  you.  Eve  ?  " 

She  flushed. 

"  I'd  rather  have  you  if  you  were 
a  pauper,"  she  said.  "  than  any  other 
man  in  the  world  with  millions.  But 
I  don't  want  to  stand  in  your  lighi:. 
And  there  are  my  mother  and 
Frankie  remember — three  of  us. 
Could  you  manage  for  us  all  ?  " 

"  I've  a  little  money  he  can't  take 
away.  My  grandmother  left  it  to 
me."  he  said.  "  And  what  more  we 
need.  I  will  get,  somehow,  Eve." 


CINDER-EVE. 


595 


That  time  she  could  no  longer  re- 
sist him.  He  drew  her  into  his  arms, 
and  their  lips  met. 

"  W  hat  does  anything  else  matter," 
he  cried.  "  if  we  have  each  other.  We 
can  do  without  the  Blackwell  money." 

On  the  following  Wednesday,  Cy- 
rus Blackwell  sat  before  his  desk  in 
an  attitude  of  listless  dejection  when 
his  secretary  announced  "  Mr.  But- 
ler." This  jovial  gentleman  strode 
over  to  him  with  a  hearty  hand-clasp. 

"How  are  you,  old  man?  They 
tell  me  things  are  looking  up — that 
you  have  an  even  chance  at  least — 
with  Thompson.  Why.  What's  the 
matter?  You  don't  look  very  chipper 
over  the  news." 

"  Chipper!  Hell!  "  was  the  succinct 
reply. 

"  Bless  me !  What's  the  reason  for 
the  tears?"  Blackwell  swung  around 
in  his  chair  angrily. 

"  That  fool  boy  of  mine  wants  to 
marry  his  stenographer,  and —  " 

"  Stenographer?  Didn't  even  know 
he  was  in  business !  " 

"  Oh.  he's  been  writing  a  book," 
and  as  the  other's  roar  of  incredulous 
laughter  subsided,  Blackwell  stated 
the  facts  of  the  case  and  an  unwilling 
gleam  of  amusement  came  into  his 
stern  eyes  as  he  recounted  the  part 
played  by  n  The  Mistress  of  the 
Manse." 

Butler  chuckled  often  during  the 
recital,  and  when  Blackwell  finished, 
slapped  him  violently  on  the  knee. 

"  Gad !  The  boy's  a  wonder !  Turn 
genius  like  that  into  business  channels 
and  you'll  own  the  world.  Let  him 
have  her!  It'll  make  a  man  of  him 
instead  of  a  mollycoddle  with  too 
much  money  to  spend.  He  loves  her 
and  he's  willing  to  work  for  her. 
Give  him  a  good  job.  but  make  him 
earn  the  salary.  Besides,  this  mar- 
riage will  accomplish  more  for  you 
than  anything  else  during  the  cam- 
paign. You  need  the  backing  of  the 
common  people.  They  have  an  in- 
born suspicion  of  our  class,  but  when 


they  find  out  that  money  and  society 
can't  make  you  turn  up  your  nose  at 
your  son's  marrying  his  secretary, 
their  confidence  in  you  will  crystallize 
overnight.  Of  course,  if  she  isn't  a 
lady—  " 

M  Oh,  she's  all  right  on  that  score." 
reluctantly  admitted  Blackwell,  "  and 
Ogden  said  her  mother  was  a  Hamp- 
ton of  South  Carolina,  in  the  same 
tone  an  Englishman  speaks  of  Queen 
Victoria." 

"Hampton,  of  South  Carolina? 
Bluest  blood  iu  the  State!  See  here, 
Cyrus,  you're  making  a  bad  mistake. 
You're  not  the  man  I've  grown  up 
with  and  loved  and  admired  all  these 
years,  if  you  let  the  fact  that  the  girl 
has  earned  an  honest  living  stand  in 
the  way  of  Ogden's  happiness." 

"  But  his  mother  and  Grace —  " 

"  Bother  his  mother  and  Grace ! 
I'll  get  my  wife  to  talk  to  them.  She 
can  persuade  anybody." 

And  after  exhorting  his  friend  in 
like  vein  for  half  an  hour,  he  went  out, 
leaving  the  latter  in  a  very  lenient 
frame  of  mind,  induced  by  the  com- 
forting thought  that  the  opposition  of 
his  wife  and  daughter  would  be  much 
softened  by  the  knowledge  that  Mrs. 
Franklin  Butler,  social  arbiter,  ap- 
proved and  abetted  the  match. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Cyrus  Black- 
well  climbed  the  stairs  to  his  son's 
rooms  to  find  that  young  man.  di- 
sheveled and  dusty,  perched  on  the  re- 
sisting top  of  a  much  overfilled  trunk. 
Ogden  looked  up  with  a  glance  of 
inquiry,  which  speedily  changed  to  a 
hostile  glare  when  he  recognized  the 
intruder. 

H  Ogden,"  said  his  father  in  depre- 
catory tones,  "  are  you  really  going  to 
leave  us  for  that  girl  ?  " 

"  I  am,  sir.  I  love  her  and  I'm  go- 
ing to  marry  her,  with  or  without  vour 
consent.  I'm  grateful  to  you  for  hav- 
ing given  me  all  this  luxury " — he 
made  a  sweeping  and  dramatic  gesture 
across  the  richness  of  the  room — <4  but 
I  care  so  much  for  her  that  I  don't 
want  it  without  her." 


534 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


as  soon  as  I  could  persuade  you  to 
accept  me."  '  . 

"  Please"  she  said.  44  \ou  shouldn  t 
sav  these  things  to  me." 

""You  asked  me  what  had  gone 
wrong." 

She  drew  a  deep  breath — glanced  up 

at  him. 

"  But  it  I  don't  marry  you.  she 
said,  "he  won't  disinherit  you;  and 
I'm  not  intending  to  marry  you— so 
untiling  is  wrong  after  all." 

"  You  are  going  to  marry  me,"  he 
Said;  "and  to  —  somewhere  or  other 
with  his  money  I  " 

"  I  am  not  going  t<>  marry  you."  she 
Said.  "  Do  you  want  me  again  to-day. 
Mr.  Blackwell — or  may  I  go?" 

"I  want  you — not  only  to-day  but 
always."  said  he.  "  and  you  may  never 
go  with  mv  permission." 

She  flushed. 

"  Have  you  forgotten."  she  asked. 
"  that  I  am  here — quite    alone  with 

you?" 

'"What  of  that?"  he  cried  im- 
patiently. "  Am  I  to  pretend  I'm  not 
in  love  with  you  just  because  we  don't 
happen  to  be  chaperoned  ?  n 

"  You  are  taking  advantage  of  my 
presence  here  to  say  things  that  I  pre- 
fer not  to  hear."  she  answered 
gravely. 

He  hesitated  an  instant  in  silence, 
looking  down  at  her.  Then  he  said 
gravely: 

"  Will  you  come  up  to  the  study  an 
in  Stan  t.  please?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  Certainly,"  she  said. 

He  lead  the  way.  When  they  had 
entered  the  ronm  and  the  door  was 
clo-ed  behind  them,  he  said: 

"  Please  take  a  letter  for  me." 

"  A  letter?  "  she  repeated. 
Do  you  mind  ?  H 

"  Certainly  not." 

She  drew  a  sheet  of  paper  toward 
ner  and  selecting  her  sharpest  pencil 
waited. 

"Dear  Miss  Neville:"  he  began. 
She  looked  up  blankly. 
"  Please—  "  she  began. 


"Won't  you  take  my  letter?"  he 

asked. 

She    hesitated,     flushed    a  little, 

shrugged. 

"  I  am  writing  this,"  he  dictated, 
"  to  tell  you  that  I  love  you  and  that 
I  want  to  marry  you.  I've  loved  you 
since  the  instant  I  saw  you  in  front  of 
my  car  on  Fifty-Ninth  Street.  I  lied 
about  being  an  author  and  needing 
you.    I— " 

"  If  you  are  going  to  explain  all 
that."  said  Eve,  "  you  are  merely 
wasting  time.  She  knows  it.  She 
read  1  The  Mistress  of  the  Manse ' 
years  ago  and  remembered  it  quite 
well." 

"  Eve !  "  he  cried,  advancing. 

She  put  aside  her  pad  and  pencil. 

"  Let's  be  sensible,"  she  said. 
"  Wait.  Don't  come  near  me.  please, 
until  you  hear  what  I  have  to  say.  I 
knew  you  were  just  pretending  to  be 
an  author.  I  let  you.  because  I — I 
was  as  anxious  to  see  you  again  as 
you  could  possibly  have  been  to  see 
me." 

He  took  both  her  hands  in  his.  She 
struggled  to  free  them. 

"Please!"  she  cried.  "You 
mustn't.  I  could  never,  never  marry 
you  without  your  father's  consent." 

"Why  not?"  he  demanded. 

M  T  couldn't  deprive  you  of  so  much 
money.     You'd  hate  me  afterward." 

"  Nonsense.  Do  you  think  I  care 
about  money.  I  can  earn  enough  for 
both  our  needs.  I  don't  know  how. 
I've  never  tried  out.  But  know  that 
I  can.  You  don't  care  about  the 
money,  do  you.  Eve  ? 

She  flushed. 

"  I'd  rather  have  you  if  you  were 
a  pauper,"  she  said.  *'  than  anv  other 
man  in  the  world  with  million's.  But 
I  don't  want  to  stand  in  your  light. 
And  there  are  my  mother  and 
Frankie  remember — three  of  us. 
Could  you  manage  for  us  all  ?  " 

"  I've  a  little  money  he  can't  take 
away.  My  grandmother  left  it  to 
me."  he  said.  "And  what  more  we 
need.  I  will  get.  somehow,  Eve." 


CINDER-EVE. 


595 


That  time  she  could  no  longer  re- 
sist him.  He  drew  her  into  his  arms, 
and  their  lips  met. 

"  W  hat  does  anything  else  matter," 
he  cried,  M  if  we  have  each  other.  We 
can  do  without  the  Blackwell  money." 

On  the  following  Wednesday,  Cy- 
rus Blackwell  sat  before  his  desk  in 
an  attitude  of  listless  dejection  when 
his  secretary  announced  "  Mr.  But- 
ler." This  jovial  gentleman  strode 
over  to  him  with  a  hearty  hand-clasp. 

"How  are  you,  old  man?  They 
tell  me  things  are  looking  up — that 
you  have  an  even  chance  at  least — 
with  Thompson.  Why.  What's  the 
matter?  You  don't  look  very  chipper 
over  the  news." 

"  Chipper!  Hell !  "  was  the  succinct 
reply. 

"  Bless  me !  What's  the  reason  for 
the  tears?"  Blackwell  swung  around 
in  his  chair  angrily. 

"  That  fool  boy  of  mine  wants  to 
marry  his  stenographer,  and —  " 

"  Stenographer?  Didn't  even  know 
he  was  in  business !  " 

"  Oh,  he's  been  writing  a  book," 
and  as  the  other's  roar  of  incredulous 
laughter  subsided.  Blackwell  stated 
the  facts  of  the  case  and  an  unwilling 
gleam  of  amusement  came  into  his 
stern  eyes  as  he  recounted  the  part 
plaved  by  "  The  Mistress  of  the 
Manse." 

Butler  chuckled  often  during  the 
recital,  and  when  Blackwell  finished, 
slapped  him  violent lv  on  the  knee. 

"Gad!  The  boy's  a  wonder!  Turn 
genius  like  that  into  business  channels 
and  you'll  own  the  world.  Let  him 
have  her!  It'll  make  a  man  of  him 
instead  of  a  mollycoddle  with  too 
much  money  to  spend.  He  loves  her 
and  he's  willing  to  work  for  her. 
Give  him  a  good  job.  but  make  him 
earn  the  salary.  Besides,  this  mar- 
riage will  accomplish  more  for  you 
than  anything  else  during  the  cam- 
paign. You  need  the  backing  of  the 
common  people.  They  have  an  in- 
born suspicion  of  our  class,  but  when 


they  find  out  that  money  and  society 
can't  make  you  turn  up  your  nose  at 
your  son's  marrying  his  secretary, 
their  confidence  in  you  will  crystallize 
overnight.  Of  course,  if  she  isn't  a 
lady—  " 

"  Oh,  she's  all  right  on  that  score." 
reluctantly  admitted  Blackwell.  14  and 
Ogden  said  her  mother  was  a  Hamp- 
ton of  South  Carolina,  in  the  same 
tone  an  Englishman  speaks  of  Queen 
Victoria." 

"Hampton,  of  South  Carolina? 
Bluest  blood  in  the  State!  See  here, 
Cyrus,  you're  making  a  bad  mistake. 
You're  not  the  man  I've  grown  up 
With  and  loved  and  admired  all  these 
years,  if  you  let  the  fact  that  the  girl 
has  earned  an  honest  living  stand  in 
the  way  of  Ogden's  happiness." 

11  But  his  mother  and  Grace —  " 

"  Bother  his  mother  and  Grace ! 
I'll  get  my  wife  to  talk  to  them.  She 
can  persuade  anybody." 

And  after  exhorting  his  friend  in 
like  vein  for  half  an  hour,  he  went  out, 
leaving  the  latter  in  a  very  lenient 
frame  of  mind,  induced  by  the  com- 
forting, thought  that  the  opposition  of 
his  wife  and  daughter  would  be  much 
softened  by  the  knowledge  that  Mrs. 
Franklin  Butler,  social  arbiter,  ap- 
proved and  abetted  the  match. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Cyrus  Black- 
well  climbed  the  stairs  to  his  son's 
rooms  to  find  that  young  man.  di- 
sheveled and  dusty,  perched  on  the  re- 
sisting top  of  a  much  overfilled  trunk. 
Ogden  looked  up  with  a  glance  of 
inquiry,  which  speedily  changed  to  a 
hostile  glare  when  he  recognized  the 
intruder. 

"  Ogden."  said  his  father  in  depre- 
catory tones,  "  are  you  really  going  to 
leave  us  for  that  girl  ?  " 

"  I  am.  sir.  I  love  her  and  I'm  go- 
ing to  marry  her.  with  or  without  your 
consent.  I'm  grateful  to  you  for  hav- 
ing given  me  all  this  luxury  " — he 
made  a  sweeping  and  dramatic  gesture 
across  the  richness  of  the  room — "  but 
T  care  so  much  for  her  that  I  don't 
want  it  without  her." 


598 


ALL-STORY  WEEKLY. 


4<  You  may  have  them  both,"  came 
the  placid  rejoinder. 

That  evening  there  was  presented  to 
the  astounded  gaze  of  Eve  Neville  as 
she  answered  the  door-bell  the  appari- 
tion of  two  gentlemen  in  evening  dress, 
whose  festive  appearance  was  further 

(The 


increased  by  an  expression  of  happy 
anticipation.  And  then  and  there, 
amid  a  setting  of  unbelievably  ugly 
wall-paper  and  imitation-oak  stairs, 
she  yielded  to  their  joint  and  fervent 
plea  that  she  become  "  the  mistress  of 
the  inanse  "  of  Blackwell  junior. 

•  ad.l 


XJ  XJ  XJ  XJ 

THE  DESERT 

BY  JENNIE  HARRIS  OLIVER 

I AM  the  desert  life — 
Tenacious,  wizard  life! 
I  grasp  and  hold  and  hug  each  shriveled  thing: 
I  know  no  loss  and  fear  no  withering. 
Gray,  mummied  sticks  and  threadlets,  powder-dry, 
We  fiercely  cherish  them,  the  gods  and  I 
I  am  the  desert  life. 

I  am  the  desert  wind — 
The  wild,  resistless  wind! 
I  lace  the  skies  with  hot.  white  mystery. 
And  drive  the  sands  with  death  and  treachery. 
The  dunes  that  mark  a  pictured  waste  to-day 
I'll  shift  and  shape  in  more  fantastic  way. 
I  am  the  desert  wind. 

I  am  the  desert  stars — 
The  lambent,  low-hung  stars! 
I  weave  a  tent  of  glowing  witchery. 
And  woo  grim  shapes  with  softening  sorcery. 
I  gather  jewels  from  the  ether,  rare, 
And  give  them  glistening  to  the  desert  air. 
I  am  the  desert  stars. 

I  am  the  desert  moon — 
The  white,  enchanted  moon ! 
I  lay  a  floor  of  burnished-silver  light, 
And  bridge  with  gems  the  danger-place  of  night. 
I  brew  a  cup  of  hope,  wine-cool  and  sweet. 
And  pour  it  glowing  at  the  desert's  feet. 
I  am  the  desert  moon. 

I  am  the  desert  bones — 
The  dry,  bleached,  crumbling  bones! 
The  barrens  drew  me  from  the  things  that  were. 
My  harvest  blossoms — Change,  the  harvester! 
Without  my  sacrifice  the  things  that  be 
Had  never  been ;  the  desert  needed  me. 
I  am  the  desert  bones. 


*nine 


1  ^J^P 

bf^  John  Buchan 


Author  of  "  Pr ester  John." 


CHAPTER  I 

The  Man  Who  Died. 

RETURNED  from  the  city 
about  three  o'clock  on  that 
May  afternoon  pretty  well 
disgusted  with  life.  I  had 
been  three  months  in  the 
old  country  and  was  fed-up 
with  it.  If  any  one  had 
told  me  a  year  ago  that  I  would  have 
been  feeling  like  that,  I  should  have 
called  him  a  liar;  but  there  was  the 
fact. 

The  weather  made  mc  liverish ;  the 
talk  of  the  ordinary  Englishman  made 
me  sick ;  I  couldn't  get  enough  exer- 
cise, and  the  amusements  of  London 
seemed  as  flat  as  soda-water  that  has 
been  standing  in  the  sun.  "  Richard 
Hannay."  I  kept  telling  myself,  "you 
have  got  into  the  wrong  ditch,  my 
friend,  and  you  had  better  climb  out." 

It  made  mc  bite  my  lips  to  think  of 
all  the  plans  I  had  been  building  up 
those  last  years  in  Buluwayo.  I  had 
got  my  pile — not  one  of  the  big  ones, 
but  £ood  enough  for  me ;  and  I  had 
figured  out  all  kinds  of  ways  of  en- 
joying myself. 

My  father  had  brought  me  out  from 
Scotland  at  the  age  of  six,  and  I  had 
never  been  home  since;  so  England 
was  a  sort  of  "  Arabian  Nights"  to 
me,  and  I  counted  on  stopping  there 


for  the  rest  of  my  days.  But  from  the 
first  I  was  disappointed  with  it. 

In  about  a  week  I  was  tired  of  see- 
ing sights,  and  in  less  than  a  month  I 
had  had  enough  of  restaurants  and 
theaters  and  race  meetings.  I  had  no 
real  pal  to  go  about  with,  which  prob- 
ably explains  things.  Plenty  of  people 
invited  me  to  their  houses,  but  they 
didn't  seem  much  interested  in  me. 
They  would  ask  me  a  question  or  two 
about  South  Africa  and  then  get  on  to 
their  own  affairs.  A  lot  of  Imperialist 
ladies  asked  me  to  tea  to  meet  school- 
masters from  New  Zealand  and  editors 
from  Vancouver,  and  that  was  the  dis- 
malest  business  of  all. 

Here  was  I.  thirty-seven  years  old. 
sound  in  wind  and  limb,  with  enough 
money  to  have  a  good  time,  yawning 
my  head  off  all  day.  I  had  just  about 
settled  to  clear  out  and  get  back  to 
the  veld,  for  I  was  the  best-bored 
man  in  the  United  Kingdom. 

That  afternoon  I  had  been  worrying 
my  brokers  about  investments  to  give 
my  mind  something  to  work  on.  and 
on  my  way  home  I  turned  into  my 
club — rather  a  pot-house,  which  took 
in  Colonial  members.  I  had  a  long 
drink  and  read  the  evening  papers. 
They  were  full  of  the  row  in  the  Near 
East,  and  there  was  an  article  about 
Karolides.  the  Greek  premier. 

I  rather  fancied  the  chap. 


597 


598 

From  all  accounts  he  seemed  the  one 
bier  man  in  the  show,  and  he  played  a 
straight  game,  t^,  which  was  more 
than  oukl  be  said  tor  most  of  them. 
I  gathered  that  they  hated  him  pretty 
blackly  in  Berlin  and  Vienna,  but  that 
we  were  going  to  stick  to  him.  and  one 
paper  said  that  he  was  the  only  barrier 
between  Kurope  and  Armageddon. 

I  remember  wondering  if  I  could  get 
a  job  in  those  parts.  It  struck  me  that 
Albania  was  the  sort  of  place  that 
might  keep  a  man  from  yawning. 

About  six  o'clock  I  went  home, 
dressed,  dined  at  the  Cafe  Royal,  and 
turned  into  a  music-hall.  It  was  a 
sillv  show,  all  capering  women  and 
monkev- faced  men.  and  I  did  not  stay 
long.  The  night  was  fine  and  clear  as 
T  ualked  back  to  the  flat  I  had  hired 
near  Portland  Place.  The  crowd 
surged  past  me  on  the  pavements,  all 
busy  and  chattering,  and  I  envied  the 
people  for  having  something  to  do. 

These  shop-girls  and  clerks  and 
dandies  and  policemen  had  some  in- 
terest in  life  that  kept  them  going. 

I  gave  half  a  crown  to  a  beggar  be- 
cause I  saw  him  yawn;  he  was  a  fel- 
low sufferer.  At  Oxford  Circus  I 
looked  up  into  the  spring  sky  and  I 
made  a  vow.  I  would  give  the  old 
country  another  day  to  fit  me  into 
something:  if  nothing  happened  I 
would  take  the  next  boat  for  the  Cape. 

My  fl.it  was  the  first  floor  in  a  new- 
block  behind  Langham  Place. 

There  was  a  common  staircase  with 
a  porter  and  a  liftman  at  the  entrance, 
but  there  was  no  restaurant  or  any- 
thing ,.-,f  that  sort,  ami  each  flat  was 
quite  shut  off  from  the  others.  I  hate 
servants  on  the  premises,  so  I  had  a 
fellow  to  look  after  me  who  came  in 
by  the  day. 

He  arrived  before  eight  o'clock 
every  morning  and  used  to  depart  at 
seven,  for  I  never  dined  at  home. 

I  was  just  fitting  my  key  into  the 
dopr  when  T  noticed  a  man  at  my  el- 
bow. I  had  not  seen  him  approach, 
and  the  sudden  appearance  made  me 
start.   He  was  a  slim  man  with  a  short. 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


brown  beard  and  small,  gimlety.  blue 

e>'es-  ^  c 

I  recognized  him  as  the  occupant  of 

a  flat  on  the  top  floor,  with  whom  I  had 

passed  the  time  of  day  on  the  stairs. 

"  Can  I  speak  to  you  ? "  he  said. 
"  May  I  come  in  for  a  minute  ?  M  He 
was  steadying  his  voice  with  an  eflfort, 
and  his  hand  was  pawing  my  arm. 

I  got  my  door  open  and  motioned 
him  in.  No  sooner  was  he  over  the 
threshold  than  he  made  a  dash  for  my 
back  room  where  I  used  to  smoke  and 
write  my  letters.  Then  he  bolted  back. 

"Is  the  door  locked  ?  "  he  asked 
feverishly,  and  he  fastened  the  chain 
with  his  own  hand. 

'*  I'm  very  sorry."  he  said  humbly. 
"  It's  a  mighty  liberty,  but  you  looked 
the  kind  of  man  who  would  under- 
stand. I've  had  you  in  my  mind  all 
this  week  when  things  got  trouble- 
some. Sav.  will  vou  do  me  a  good 
turn?" 

"I'll  listen  to  you."  I  said;  "that's 
all  I'll  promise."  I  was  getting  wor- 
ried by  the  antics  of  this  nervous  little 

chap. 

There  was  a  tray  of  drinks  on  a 
table  beside  him.  from  which  he  filled 
himself  a  stiff  whisky  and  soda.  He 
drank  it  off  in  three  gulps,  and  cracked 
the  glass  as  he  set  it  down. 

"  Pardon."  he  said ;  "  I'm  a  bit  rat- 
tled to-night.  Vou  see.  I  happen  at 
this  moment  to  be  dead." 

I  sat  down  in  an  armchair  and  lit 
my  pipe. 

"What  does  it  feel  like?"  I  asked. 
T  was  pretty  certain  that  I  had  to  deal 
with  a  madman. 

A  smile  flickered  over  his  drawn 
face.  *  I'm  not  mad — yet.  Say.  Mr. 
ITannay.  J'vc  been  watching  you,  and 
I  reckon  you're  a  cool  customer.  I 
reckon,  too,  you're  an  honest  man  and 
not  afraid  of  playing  a  bold  hand. 
I'm  going  to  confide  in  you.  I  need 
help  worse  than  any  man  ever  needed 
it,  and  I  want  to  know  if  I  can  count 
you  in  ?  '* 

"  Get  on  with  your  yarn."  I  said, 
"  and  then  I'll  tell  you." 


THE  THIRTY-NINE  STEPS. 


60S 


He  seemed  to  brace  himself  for  a 
great  effort,  and  then  started  on  the 
queerest  rigmarole.  I  didn't  get  hold 
of  it  at  first,  and  I  had  to  stop  and  ask 
him  questions.  But  here  is  the  gist  of 
it: 

He  was  an  American,  from  Ken- 
tucky, and  after  college,  being  pretty 
well  off,  he  had  started  out  to  see  the 
world.  He  wrote  a  bit,  and  acted  as 
war  correspondent  for  a  Chicago 
paper,  and  spent  a  year  or  two  in 
southeastern  Europe.  I  gathered  that 
he  was  a  fine  linguist,  and  had  got  to 
know  pretty  well  the  society  of  those 
parts.  He  spoke  familiarly  of  many 
names  that  I  remembered  to  have  seen 
in  the  newspapers. 

He  had  played  about  with  politics, 
he  told  me — at  first  for  the  interest  of 
them,  and  then  because  he  couldn't 
help  himself.  I  read  him  as  a  sharp, 
restless  fellow,  who  always  wanted  to 
get  down  to  the  roots  of  things.  He 
got  a  little  farther  down  than  he 
wanted. 

I  am  giving  you  what  he  told  me 
as  well  as  I  could  make  it  out.  Away 
behind  all  the  governments  and  the 
armies  there  was  a  big  subterranean 
movement  going  on,  engineered  by 
very  dangerous  people.  He  had  come 
on  it  by  accident;  it  fascinated  him; 
he  went  further,  and  then  got  caught. 

I  gathered  that  most  of  the  people  in 
it  were  the  sort  of  educated  anarchists 
that  make  revolutions,  but  that  besides 
them  there  were  financiers  who  were 
playing  for  money. 

A  clever  man  can  make  big  profits 
on  a  falling  market ;  and  it  suited  the 
plans  of  both  classes  to  set  Europe  by 
the  ears.  He  told  me  some  queer 
things  that  explained  a  lot  that  had 
puzzled  me — things  that  happened  in 
ihe  Balkan  War ;  how  one  state  sud- 
denly came  out  on  top;  why  alliances 
were  made  and  broken  ;  why  certain 
men  disappeared,  and  where  the 
Sinews  of  war  came.  from. 

The  aim  of  the  whole  conspiracy 
was  to  get  Russia  and  Germany  at 
loggerheads. 


When  I  asked  why,  he  said  that  the 
anarchist  lot  thought  it  would  give 
them  their  chance.  Everything  would 
be  in  the  melting-pot,  and  they  looked 
to  'see  a  new  world  emerge.  The 
capitalists  would  rake  in  the  shekels 
and  make  fortunes  by  buying  up 
wreckage. 

Capital,  he  said,  had  no  conscience 
and  no  fatherland;  besides,  the  Jew 
was  behind  it,  and  the  Jew  hated 
Russia  worse  than  hell. 

"  Do  you  wonder?  "  he  cried.  u  For 
three  hundred  years  they  have  been 
persecuted,  and  this  is  the  return  match 
for  the  pogroms.  The  Jew  is  every- 
where, but  you  have  to  go  far  down 
the  back  stairs  to  find  him. 

"  Take  any  big  Teutonic  business 
concern.  If  you  have  dealings  with 
it  the  first  man  you  meet  is  Prince  von 
Something,  an  elegant  young  man  who 
talks  Eaton-and-Harrow  English.  Rut 
he  cuts  no  ice.  If  your  business  is  big, 
yOU  get  behind  him  and  find  a  progna- 
thous Westphalian  with  a  retreating 
brow  and  the  manners  of  a  hog. 

"He  is  the  German  business  man  that 
gives  your  English  papers  the  shakes. 
But  if  you're  on  the  biggest  kind  of  a 
job  and  are  bound  to  get  to  the  real 
boss,  ten  to  one  you  are  brought  up 
against  a  little,  white- faced  Jew  in  a 
bath-chair,  with  an  eye  like  a  rattle- 
snake. Yes,  sir,  he  is  the  man  who  is 
ruling  the  world  just  now,  and  he  has 
his  knife  in  the  empire  of  the  Czar  be- 
cause his  father  was  flogged  in  some 
one-horse  location  on  the  Volga." 

I  could  not  help  saying  that  his  Jew 
anarchists  seemed  to  have  got  left  be- 
hind a  little. 

II  Yes  and  no."  he  said.  "  They 
won  up  to  a  point,  but  they  struck  a 
bigger  thing  than  money,  a  thing  that 
couldn't  be  bought — the  old  elemental 
fighting  instincts  of  man.  If  you're 
going  to  be  killed  you  invent  some 
kind  of  flag  and  country  to  fight  for, 
and  if  you  survive,  you  get  to  love  the 
thing.  These  foolish  devils  of  soldiers 
have  found  something  they  care  for, 
and  that  has  upset  the  pretty  plan  laid 


in  Berlin  and  Vienna.  But  my  friends 
haven't  played  their  last  card  by  a  long 
sight  They've  got  the  aces  up  their 
sleeves,  and  unless  I  can  keep  alive  for 
a  month,  they  are  going  to  play  it,  and 

win."  . 
"  But    I  thought  y  >u  were  dead.  1 

put  in.  *  *  ■  »  \ 

"  Death   is   the  dour  of   hie.  he 

smiled.   "  I'm  coming  to  that,  but  I've 

got  to  put  you  wise  to  a  lot  of  things 

first.    If  you  read  your  newspaper,  I 

guess  you  know  the  name  of  Constan- 

tine  Karolides  ?  " 

I  >at  up  at  that,  for  I  had  been  read- 
ing about  him  that  very  afternoon. 

"  He  is  the  man  that  has  wrecked 
all  their  games.  He  is  the  one  big 
brain  in  the  whole  show,  and  he  hap- 
pens also  to  be  an  honest  man.  There- 
fore he  has  been  marked  down  these 
twelve  months  past.  I  found  that  out 
— not  that  it  was  difficult,  for  any  fool 
could  guess  as  much.  Hut  I  found  out 
the  way  they  were  going  to  get  him. 
and  that  knowledge  was  deadly.  That's 
why  1  have  had  to  decease/' 

He  had  another  drink  and  I  mixed 
it  for  him  myself,  for  I  was  getting 
interested  in  the  beggar. 

**  They  can't  get  him  in  his  own  land, 
for  he  has  a  bodyguard  of  Epi rotes 
that  would  skin  their  grandmothers. 
But  oil  the  fifteenth  day  of  June  he  is 
coming  to  this  city.  The  British 
Foreign  Office  has  taken  to  having  in- 
ternational tea-parties,  and  the  biggest 
of  them  is  due  on  that  date.  Now. 
Karolides  is  reckoned  the  principal 
guest,  and  if  my  friends  have  their 
way.  he  will  never  return  to  his  ad- 
miring countrymen." 

II  That's  simple  enough,  anyhow." 
I  aid.  "  You  can  warn  him  and 
keep  him  at  home." 

"  And  play  their  game?"  he  asked 
sharply.  "If  be  dues  nut  come  thev 
win.  for  he's  the  onlv  man  that  can 
straighten  out  the  tangle.  And  if  his 
government  is  warned  he  won't  come, 
for  he  does  not  know  how  big  the 
stakes  will  l>e  on  June  15." 

"  What  about  the  British  govern- 


'  WEEKLY. 

ment?"  I  said.  "They're  not  going 
to  let  their  guests  be  murdered.  Tip 
them  the  wink,  and  they'll  take  extra 

precautions." 

"  No  good.  They  might  stuff  your 
city  with  plain-clothes  detectives  and 
double  the  police,  and  Constantine 
would  still  be  a  doomed  man.  My 
friends  are  not  playing  this  game  for 
fun.  They  want  a  big  occasion  for 
the  taking  off,  with  the  eyes  of  all 
Europe  on  it.  He'll  be  murdered  by 
an  Austrian,  and  there'll  be  plenty  of 
evidence  to  show  the  connivance  of 
the  big  folk  in  Vienna  and  Berlin.  It 
will  all  be  an  infernal  lie.  of  course; 
but  the  case  will  look  black  enough  to 
the  world. 

"I'm  not  talking  hot  air.  my  friend. 

'*  I  happen  to  know  every  detail  of 
the  hellish  contrivance,  and  I  can  tell 
you  it  will  be  the  most  finished  piece 
of  blackguardism  since  the  Borgias. 
But  it's  not  going  to  come  off  if 
there's  a  certain  man  who  knows  the 
wheels  of  the  business  alive  right  here 
in  London  on  the  15th  day  of  June. 
And  that  man  is  going  to  be  your 
servant.  Franklin  P.  Scudder." 

I  was  getting  to  like  the  little  chap. 
His  jaw  had  shut  like  a  rat-trap,  and 
there  was  the  lire  of  battle  in  his 
gimlet y  eyes.  If  he  was  spinning  me 
a  yarn  he  could  act  up  to  it. 

"  Where  did  you  find  out  this 
story?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  got  the  first  hint  in  an  inn  on 
the  Achensee  in  Tyrol.  That  set  me 
inquiring,  and  I  collected  my  other 
clues  in  a  fur-shop  in  the  Galician 
quarter  of  Buda.  in  a  Strangers'  Club 
in  Vienna,  and  in  a  little  book  -  shop 
off  the  Racknitzstrasse  in  IxMpsic.  I 
completed  my  evidence  ten  days  ago 
in  Paris. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  the  details  now, 
for  it's  something  of  a  tale.  When  I 
was  quite  sure  in  my  own  mind  I 
judged  it  my  business  to  disappear, 
and  I  reached  this  city  by  a  mighty 
queer  circuit.  T  left  Paris  a  dandified 
French-American,  and  I  sailed  from 
Hamburg  a  Jew  diamond  merchant. 


THE  THIRTY-NINE  STEPS. 


601 


"  In  Norway  I  was  an  English  stu- 
dent of  Ibsen,  collecting  materials  for 
lectures;  but  when  I  left  Bergen  I 
was  a  moving-picture  man  with  spe- 
cial skee  films.  And  I  came  here  from 
Leith  with  a  lot  of  pulpwood  prepara- 
tions in  my  pocket  to  put  before  the 
London  newspapers.  Till  yesterday  I 
thought  I  had  muddied  my  trail 
some,  and  was  feeling  pretty  happy. 
Then—" 

The  recollection  seemed  to  upset 
him,  and  he  gulped  down  some 
whisky. 

" — then  I  saw  a  man  standing  in 
the  street  outside  this  block.  I  used 
to  stay  close  in  my  room  all  day,  and 
only  slip  out  after  dark  for  an  hour 
or  two.  I  watched  him  for  a  bit  from 
my  window,  and  I  thought  I  recog- 
nized him.  He  came  in  and  spoke  to 
the  porter.  When  I  came  back  from 
my  walk  last  night  I  found  a  card  in 
my  letter-box.  It  bore  the  name  of 
the  man  1  want  least  to  meet  on  God's 
earth." 

I  think  that  the  look  in  my  com- 
panion's eyes,  the  sheer  naked  fright 
on  his  face,  completed  my  conviction 
of  his  honesty.  My  own  voice  sharp- 
ened a  bit  as  I  asked  him  what  he  did 
next. 

°  I  realized  that  I  was  bottled  as 
sure  as  a  pickled  herring,  and  that 
there  was  only  one  way  out.  I  had 
to  die.  If  my  pursuers  knew  I  was 
dead  they  would  go  to  sleep  again." 

"How  did  you  manage  it?' 

[  told  the  man  that  valets  me  that 
T  was  feeling  pretty  bad,  and  I  got 
myself  up  to  look  like  death.  That 
wasn't  difficult,  for  I'm  no  slouch  at 
disguises.  Then  I  got  a  corpse — you 
cah  always  get  a  body  in  London  if 
you  know  where  to  go  for  it.  I  fetched 
it  back  in  a  trunk  on  the  top  of  a  four- 
wheeler,  and  I  had  to  be  assisted  up- 
stairs to  my  room. 

"  You  see,  I  had  to  pile  up  some 
evidence  for  the  inquest.  I  went  to 
l>ed  and  got  my  man  to  mix  me  a 
sleeping-draft,  and  then  told  him  to 
clear  out.    Me  wanted  to  fetch  a  doc- 


tor, but  I  swore  some  and  said  I 
couldn't  abide  leeches.  When  I  was 
left  alone  I  started  in  to  fake  up  that 
corpse. 

"  He  was  my  size,  and  I  judged  had 
perished  from  too  much  alcohol — so  I 
put  some  spirits  handy  about  the  place. 
The  jaw  was  the  weak  point  in  the 
likeness,  so  I  blew  it  away  with  a  re- 
volver. I  dare  say  there  will  be  some- 
body to  -  morrow  to  swear  to  having 
heard  a  shot;  but  there  are  no  neigh- 
bors on  my  floor,  and  I  guessed  I 
could  risk  that. 

"  So  I  left  the  body  in  bed  dressed 
up  in  my  pajamas,  with  a  revolver 
lying  on  the  bed-clothes  and  a  consid- 
erable mess  around.  Then  I  got  into 
a  suit  of  clothes  I  had  kept  waiting 
for  emergencies.  I  didn't  dare  to 
shave  for  fear  of  leaving  tracks;  and. 
besides,  it  wasn't  any  kind  of  u>e  my 
trying  to  get  into  the  street?. 

"  I  had  had  you  in  my  mind  all 
day,  and  there  seemed  nothing  to  do 
but  to  make  an  appeal  to  you.  I 
watched  from  my  window  till  I  saw 
you  come  home,  and  then  slipped 
down  the  stairs  to  meet  you.  There, 
sir,  1  guess  you  know  about  as  much 
as  me  of  this  business." 

He  sat  blinking  like  an  owl,  flutter- 
ing with  nerves  and  yet  desperately 
determined. 

By  this  time  I  was  pretty  well  con- 
vinced that  he  was  going  straight  with 
me.  It  was  the  wildest  sort  of  narra- 
tive; but  I  had  heard  in  my  time  manv 
steep  tales  which  had  turned  out  to 
be  true,  and  I  had  made  a  practise  of 
judging  the  man  rather  than  the  story. 

If  he  had  wanted  to  get  a  location 
in  my  flat  and  then  cut  my  throat  he 
would  have  pitched  a  milder  yarn. 

"  Hand  me  your  key,"  I  said.  "  and 
I'll  take  a  look  at  the  corpse.  Excuse 
my  caution,  but  I'm  bound  to  verify 
a  bit  if  I  can." 

He  shook  his  head  mournfully.  '*  I 
reckoned  you'd  ask  for  that,  but  I 
haven't  got  it.  It's  on  my  chain  on 
the  dressing-table.  I  had  to  leave  it 
behind,  for  I  couldn't  leave  any  clues 


602 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


to  breed  suspicions.  The  gentry  who 
arc  after  me  are  pretty  bright  -  eyed 

citizens.  You'll  have  to  take  me  on 
tru^t  for  the  night,  and  to-morrow 
you'll  get  proof  of  the  corpse  business 

"right  enough." 

I  thought  for  an  instant  or  two. 

"Right!  I'll  trust  you  for  the 
night  I'll  lock  you  into  this  room 
and  keep  the  key.  Just  one  word, 
Mr.  Scudder;  1  believe  you're  straight, 
but  if  so  be  you  are  not  I  should  warn 
you  that  I'm  a  handy  man  with  a  gun.' 

-  Sure!"  ho  said,  jumping  up  with 
some  briskness.  u  1  haven't  the  privi- 
lege of  your  name,  sir;  but  let  me  tell 
yofj  that  you're  a  white  man.  I'll 
thank  you  to  lend  me  a  razor." 

I  took  him  into  my  bedroom  and 
turned  him  loose. 

In  half  an  hour's  time  a  figure  came 
out  that  I  scarcely  recognized.  Only 
his  gimlety,  hungry  eyes  were  the 
same.  He  was  shaved  clean,  his  hair 
was  parted  in  the  middle,  and  he  had 
cut  his  eyebrows. 

Further:  He  carried  himself  as  if  he 
had  been  drilled,  and  was  the  very 
model — even  to  the  brown  complexion 
— of  some  British  officer  who  had  had 
a  long  spell  in  India.  He  had  a  mono- 
cle, too,  which  he  stuck  in  his  eye,  and 
•  very  trace  of  the  American  had  gone 
out  of  his  speech. 

'My  hat!  Mr.  Scudder—"  I  stam- 
mered. 

"  Not  Mr.  Scudder,"  he  corrected : 
"  Captain  Theophilus  Digby,  of  the 
Seventh  Goorkhas,  presently  home  on 
leave.  I'll  thank  you  to  remember 
that,  sir." 

I  made  him  up  a  bed  in  my  smoking- 
room  and  sought  my  own  couch,  more 
cheerful  than  I  had  been  for  the  past 
month.  Things  did  happen  occasion- 
ally even  in  this  God-forsaken  me- 
tropolis ! 

T  woke  next  morning  to  hear  my 
man.  Paddock,  making  the  deuce  of  a 
row  at  the  smoking-room  door. 

Paddock  was  a  fellow  I  had  done  a 
good  turn  to  out  on  the  Sclakwi,  and 


I  had  inspanned  him  as  my  servant 
as  soon  as  I  got  to  England.  He  had 
about  as  much  gift  of  the  gab  as  a 
hippopotamus,  and  was  not  a  great 
hand  at  valeting;  but  1  knew  I  could 
count  on  his  loyalty. 

"  Stop  that  row,  Paddock,"  I  said. 
"  There's  a  friend  of  mine,  Captain — 
Captain — "  (  1  couldn't  remember  the 
name  )  "dousing  down  in  there.  Get 
breakfast  for  two,  and  then  come  and 
speak  to  me." 

I  t"ld  Paddock  a  fine  .story  about 
how  my  friend  was  a  great  swell,  with 
his  nerves  pretty  bad  from  overwork, 
who  wanted  absolute  rest  and  still- 
ness Nobody  had  got  to  know  he 
was  here,  or  he  would  l)e  besieged  by 
communications  from  the  India  office 
and  the  prime  minister,  and  his  cure 
would  be  ruined. 

I  am  bound  to  say  Scudder  played 
up  splendidly  when  he  came  to  break- 
fast. 

He  fixed  Paddock  with  his  eye- 
glass, just  like  a  British  officer;  asked 
him  about  the  Boer  War.  and  slung 
out  at  me  a  lot  of  stuff  about  imagi- 
nary pals  oi  whom  1  had  never  heard. 
Paddock  couldn't  learn  to  call  me 
"  sir."  but  he  sirred  "  Scudder  as  if 
his  life  depended  on  it. 

I  left  him  with  the  newspaper  and 
a  box  of  cigars,  and  went  down  to  the 
city  till  luncheon.  When  I  got  back 
the  porter  had  an  important  face. 

"  Nawsty  business  'ere  this  morn- 
ing, sir.  Gent  in  No.  15  been  and 
shot  'isself.  They've  just  took  Mm  to 
the  mortuarv.  The  police  are  up  there 
now." 

I  ascended  to  No.  15  and  found  a 
couple  of  bobbies  and  an  inspector 
busy  making  an  examination.  I  asked 
a  few  idiotic  questions,  and  they  soon 
kicked  me  out.  Then  I  found  the  man 
that  had  valeted  Scudder,  and  pumped 
him;  but  I  could  see  he  suspected 
nothing. 

He  was  a  whining  fellow  with  a 
churchyard  face,  and  half  a  crown 
went  far  to  console  him. 

I  attended  the  inquest  next  day.  A 


THE  THIRTY-NINE  STEPS. 


603 


partner  of  some  publishing  firm  gave 
evidence  that  the  deceased  had  brought 
him  wood-pulp  propositions,  and  had 
been,  he  believed,  an  agent  of  an 
American  business.  The  jury  found 
it  a  case  of  suicide  while  of  unsound 
mind,  and  the  few  effects  were  handed 
over  to  the  American,  consul  to  deal 
with. 

I  gave  Scudder  a  full  account  of  the 
affair,  and  it  interested  him  greatly. 
He  said  he  wished  he  could  have  at- 
tended the  inquest,  for  he  reckoned  it 
would  be  about  as  spicy  as  to  read 
one's  own  obituary  notice. 

The  first  two  days  he  stayed  with 
me  in  that  back  room  he  was  very 
peaceful.  He  read  and  smoked  a  bit, 
and  made  a  heap  of  jottings  in  a  note- 
book; and  every  night  we  had  a  game 
of  chess,  at  which  he  beat  me  hollow. 

I  think  he  was  nursing  his  nerves 
back  to  health,  for  he  had  had  a  pretty 
trying  time. 

But  on  the  third  day  I  could  see  he 
was  beginning  to  get  restless.  He 
fixed  up  a  list  of  the  days  till  June  15 
and  ticked  each  off  with  a  red  pen- 
cil, and  made  remarks  in  shorthand 
against  them.  I  would  find  him  sunk 
in  a  brown  study,  with  his  sharp  eyes 
abstracted,  and  after  these  spells  of 
meditation  he  was  apt  to  be  very  des- 
pondent. 

Then  I  could  see  that  he  began  to 
get  edgy  again.  He  listened  for  little 
noises,  and  was  always  asking  me  if 
Paddock  could  be  trusted.  Once  or 
twice  he  got  very  peevish  and  apolo- 
gized for  it.    I  didn't  blame  him. 

I  made  every  allowance,  for  he  had 
taken  on  a  fairly  stiff  job. 

It  was  not  the  safety  of  his  own 
skin  that  troubled  him,  but  the  suc- 
cess of  the  scheme  he  had  planned. 
That  little  man  was  clean  pluck  all 
through,  without  a  soft  spot  in  him. 
One  night  he  was  very  solemn. 

"  Say,  Hannay,"  he  said,  "  I  judge 
I  should  let  you  a  bit  deeper  into  this 
business.  I  should  hate  to  go  out  with- 
out leaving  somebody  else  to  put  up  a 
fight." 


And  he  began  to  tell  me  in  detail 
what  I  had  only  heard  from  him 
vaguely. 

I  did  not  give  him  very  close  atten- 
tion. The  fact  is  I  was  more  inter- 
ested in  his  own  adventures  than  in 
his  high  politics.  I  reckoned  that 
Karolides  and  his  affairs  were  not  my 
business,  leaving  all  that  to  him. 

So  a  lot  that  he  said  slipped  clean 
out  of  my  memory.  I  remember  that 
he  was  very  clear  that  the  danger  to 
Karolides  would  not  begin  till  he  had 
got  to  London,  and  would  come  from 
the  very  highest  quarters,  where  there 
would  Be  no  thought  of  suspicion.  He 
mentioned  the  name  of  a  woman  - — 
Julia  Czechenyi — as  having  something 
to  do  with  the  danger. 

She  would  be  the  decoy.  I  gathered, 
to  get  Karolides  out  of  the  care  of  his 
guards.  He  talked,  too.  about  a  Black- 
Stone  and  a  man  that  lisped  in  his 
speech,  and  he  described  very  particu- 
larly somebody  that  he  never  referred 
to  without  a  shudder  —  an  old  man 
with  a  young  voice  who  could  hood 
his  eyes  like  a  hawk. 

He  spoke  a  good  deal  about  death, 
too.  He  was  mortally  anxious  about 
winning  through  with  his  job.  but  he 
didn't  care  a  rush  for  his  life. 

"  I  reckon  it's  like  going  to  sleep 
when  you  are  pretty  well  tired  out  and 
waking  to  find  a  summer  day  with  the 
scent  of  hay  coming  in  at  the  window. 
I  used  to  thank  God  for  such  morn- 
ings 'way  back  in  the  blue-grass  coun- 
try, and  I  guess  I'll  thank  Him  when 
I  wake  up  on  the  other  side  of  Tor- 
dan." 

Next  day  he  was  much  more  cheer- 
ful, and  read  the  life  of  Stonewall 
Jacks' >n  much  of  the  time.  I  went  out 
to  dinner  with  a  mining  engineer  I  had 
got  to  see  on  business,  and  came  back 
about  half  past  ten,  in  time  for  our 
game  of  chess  before  turning  in. 

I  had  a  cigar  in  my  mouth,  I  re- 
member, as  1  pushed  open  the  smo- 
king-room door.  The  lights  were  not 
lit,  which  struck  me  as  odd.  I  won- 
dered if  Scudder  had  turned  in. 


604  ALL- STORY 

I  snapped  the  switch,  but  there  was 
nobody  there.  Then  I  saw  something 
in  the  far  corner  which  made  me  drop 
my  cigar  and  fall  into  a  cold  sweat 

My  guest  was  lying  sprawled  oa  his 
back!  There  was  a  long  knife  through 
his  heart,  which  skewered  him  to  the 
tio<  r. 


CHAPTER  II. 
The  Milkman  Starts  on  His  Travels. 

ISA  T  down  in  an  armchair  ami  felt 
very  sick.  That  lasted  for  maybe 
five  minutes,  and  was  succeeded 
by  a  fit  of  the  horrors.  The  poor, 
staring,  white  face  on  the  floo*  was 
more  than  I  could  bear,  and  I  managed 
to  get  a  table-cloth  and  cover  it.  Then 
I  staggered  to  a  cupboard,  found  the 
brandy,  and  swallowed  several  mouth- 
fuls. 

I  had  seen  men  die  violently  before; 
indeed.  I  had  killed  a  few  myself  in 
the  Matabele  War.  But  this  cold- 
blooded indoor  business  was  different. 
Still  I  managed  to  pull  myself  to- 
gether. 

I  looked  at  my  watch,  and  saw  that 
it  was  half  past  ten.  An  idea  seized 
me.  and  I  went  over  the  flat  with  a 
small-tooth  comb.  There  was  nobody 
there,  nor  any  trace  of  anybody,  but 
I  shuttered  and  bolted  all  the  window's 
and  put  the  chain  on  the  door. 

By  this  time  my  wits  were  coming 
back  to  me  and  I  could  think  again. 
It  took  me  about  an  hour  to  figure 
the  thing  out,  and  T  did  not  hurry; 
for*  unless  the  murderer  came  back,  I 
had  till  about  six  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing for  my  cogitations. 

I  was  in  the  soup — that  was  pretty 
clear.  Any  shadow  of  a  doubt  T  might 
have  had  about  the  truth  of  Scudder's 
tale  was  now  gone.  The  proof  of  it 
was  lying  under  the  table-cloth.  The 
men  who  knew  that  he  knew  what 
he  knew  had  found  him,  and  had  taken 
the  best  way  to  make  certain  of  his 
silence. 

Yes;  but  he  had  been  in  my  rooms 


WEEKLY. 

four  days,  and  his  enemies  must  have 
reckoned  that  he  had  confided  in  me. 
So  1  would  be  the  next  to  go.  It  might 
be  that  very  night,  or  next  day,  or 
the  day  after,  but  my  number  was  up 
all  right. 

Then  suddenly  I  thought  of  another 
probability.  Supposing  I  went  out  now 
and  called  in  the  police,  or  went  to 
bed  and  let  Paddock  find  the  body  and 
call  them  in  the  morning.  What  kind 
of  a  story  was  I  to  tell  about  Scudder? 

I  had  lied  to  Paddock  about  him. 
and  the  whole  thing  looked  desperately 
fishy.  If  1  made  a  clean  breast  of  it 
and  told  the  police  anything  he  had 
told  me.  they  would  simply  laugh  at 
me.  The  odds  were  a  thousand  to 
one  that  1  would  be  charged  with  the 
murder,  and  the  circumstantial  evi- 
dence was  strong  enough  to  hang  me. 

Few  people  knew  me  in  England : 
I  had  no  real  pal  who  could  come 
forward  and  swear  to  my  character. 
Perhaps  that  was  what  those  secret 
enemies  were  playing  for.  They  were 
clever  enough  for  anything,  and  an 
English  prison  was  as  good  a  way  of 
getting  rid  of  me  till  after  June  15  as 
a  knife  in  my  chest. 

Besides,  if  I  told  the  whole  story, 
and  by  any  miracle  was  believed,  T 
would  be  playing  their  game.  Karo- 
lides  would  stay  at  home,  which  was 
what  they  wanted.  Somehow  or  other 
the  sight  of  Scudder's  dead  face  had 
made  me  a  firm  believer  in  his  scheme. 

He  was  gone,  but  he  had  taken  me 
into  his  confidence,  and  I  was  pretty 
well  bound  to  carry  on  his  work.  You 
may  think  this  ridiculous  for  a  man 
in  danger  of  his  life,  but  that  was  the 
way  I  looked  at  it. 

I  am  an  ordinary  sort  of  fellow,  not 
braver  than  other  people,  but  I  hate  to 
see  a  good  man  downed;  and  that  long 
knife  would  not  be  the  end  of  Scudder 
if  T  could  play  the  game  in  his  place. 

It  took  me  an  hour  or  two  to  think 
this  out,  and  by  that  time  T  had  come 
to  a  decision.  I  must  vanish  somehow 
and  keep  vanished  till  the  end  of  the 
second  week  of  June. 


THE  THIRTY-NINE  STEPS.  605 


Then  I  must  somehow  find  a  way 
to  get  in  touch  with  the  government 
people  and  tell  them  what  Scudder  had 
told  me. 

I  wished  to  Heaven  he  had  told  me 
more,  and  that  I  had  listened  more 
carefully  to  the  little  he  had  told  me, 
I  knew  nothing  but  the  barest  facts. 
There  was  a  big  risk  that,  even  if  I 
weathered  the  other  dangers,  I  would 
not  be  believed  in  the  end.  I  must  take 
my  chance  of  that  and  hope  that  some- 
thing might  happen  which  would  con- 
firm my  tale  in  the  eyes  of  the  gov- 
ernment. 

My  first  job  was  to  keep  going  for 
the  next  three  weeks.  It  was  now  the 
24th  day  of  May,  and  that  meant 
twenty  days  of  hiding  before  I  could 
venture  to  approach  the  powers  that 
be.  I  reckoned  that  two  sets  of  people 
would  be  looking  for  me — Scudder's 
enemies  to  put  me  out  of  existence, 
and  the  police,  who  would  want  me 
for  Scudder's  murder. 

It  was  going  to  be  a  giddy  hunt, 
and  it  was  queer  how  the  prospect 
comforted  me.  I  had  been  slack  so 
long  that  almost  any  chance  of  activity 
was  welcome.  When  I  had  to  sit  alone 
with  that  corpse  and  wait  on  Fortune 
I  was  no  better  than  a  crushed  worm, 
but  if  my  neck's  safety  was  to  hang 
on  my  own  wits  I  was  prepared  to  be 
cheerful  about  it. 

The  next  thought  was  whether 
Scudder  had  any  papers  about  him  to 
give  me  a  better  clue  to  the  business. 
I  drew  back  the  table-cloth  and 
searched  his  pockets.  I  had  no  longer 
any  shrinking  from  the  body.  The 
face  was  wonderfully  calm  for  a  man 
who  had  been  struck  down  in  a  mo- 
ment. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  breast  - 
pocket,  and  only  a  few  loose  coins  and 
a  cigar-holder  in  the  waistcoat.  The 
trousers  held  a  little  penknife  and  some 
silver,  and  the  side-pocket  of  his  jacket 
contained  an  old  crocodile-skin  cigar- 
case. 

There  was  no  sign  of  the  little  black- 
book  in  which  I  had  seen  him  making 


notes.  That  had,  no  doubt,  been  taken 
by  his  murderer. 

But  as  I  looked  up  from  my  task 
I  saw  that  some  drawers  had  been 
pulled  out  in  the  writing-table.  Scud- 
der would  never  have  left  them  in  that 
state,  for  he  was  the  tidiest  of  mortals. 
Some  one  must  have  been  searching 
for  something — perhaps  for  the  note- 
book. 

I  went  round  the  flat  and  found  that 
everything  had  been  ransacked — the 
inside  of  books,  drawers,  cupboards, 
boxes,  even  the  pockets  of  the  clothes 
in  my  wardrobe  and  the  skleboard  in 
the  dining-room.  There  was  no  trace 
of  the  book. 

Most  likely  the  enemy  had  found 
it,  but  they  had  not  found  it  on  Scud- 
der's body. 

Then  I  got  out  an  atlas  and  looked 
at  a  big  map  of  the  British  Isles.  My 
notion  w-as  to  get  off  to  some  wild 
district,  where  my  veldcraft  would  be 
of  some  use  to  me,  for  I  would  be  like 
a  trapped  rat  in  a  city.  I  considered 
that  Scotland  would  be  best,  for  my 
people  were  Scotch,  and  I  could  pass 
anywhere  as  an  ordinary  Scotsman.  I 
had  half  an  idea  at  first  to  be  a  German 
tourist,  for  my  father  had  had  German 
partners  and  I  had  been  brought  up  to 
speak  the  tongue  pretty  fluently,  not 
to  mention  having  put  in  three  years 
prospecting  for  copper  in  German 
Damara-land. 

But  I  calculated  that  it  would  be 
less  conspicuous  to  be  a  Scot,  and  less 
in  a  line  with  what  the  police  might 
know  of  my  past.  I  fixed  on  Galloway 
as  the  best  place  to  go  to.  It  was 
the  nearest  wild  part  of  Scotland,  so 
far  as  I  could  figure  it  out.  and  from 
the  look  of  the  map  was  not  overthick 
with  population. 

A  search  in  Bradshaw  informed  me 
that  a  train  left  St.  Pancras  at  seven- 
ten,  which  would  land  me  at  Galloway 
Station  in  the  late  afternoon.  That 
was  well  enough,  but  a  more  important 
matter  was  how  I  was  to  make  my 
way  to  the  station;  for  I  was  pretty 
certain  that  Scudder's  friends  would 


€06 


ALL- STORY  .WEEKLY. 


be  watching  outside.  This  puzzled  me 
for  a  bit:  then  I  had  an  inspiration  on 
which  I  went  to  bed  and  slept  for  two 
troubled  hours.  * 

I  got  up  at  four  and  opened  my  bed- 
room shutters.  The  taint  light  of  a 
fine  summer  morning  was  Hooding  the 
skies,  and  the  sparrows  had  begun  to 
chatter.  I  had  a  great  revulsion  of 
feeling  and  felt  a  God-forgotten  fool. 

My  inclination  was  to  let  things 
slide!  and  trust  to  the  British  police 
taking  a  reasonable  view  of  my  case. 
But  as  I  reviewed  the  situation  I  could 
find  DO  arguments  to  bring  against  my 
decision  of  the  previous  night;  so.  with 
a  wry  mouth.  I  resolved  to  go  on  with 
my  plan.  I  was  not  feeling  in  any  par- 
ticular funk,  only  disinclined  to  go 
looking  for  trouble,  it  you  understand 
me. 

I  hunted  out  a  well-used  tweed  suit, 
a  pair  of  strong-nailed  boots,  and  a 
flannel  shirt  with  a  collar.  Into  my 
pockets  I  stuffed  a  spare  shirt,  a  cloth 
cap.  some  handkerchiefs,  and  a  tooth- 
brush. I  had  drawn  a  good  sum  in 
gold  from  the  bank  two  days  before, 
in  case  Scudder  should  want  money, 
and  I  took  fifty  pounds  of  it  in  sov- 
ereigns in  a  belt  which  I  had  brought 
back  from  Rhodesia.  That  was  about 
all  I  wanted.  Then  1  had  a  bath  and 
cut  my  mustache,  which  was  long  and 
drooping,  into  a  short  stubbly  fringe. 

Now  came  the  next  step.  Paddock 
used  to  arrive  punctually  at  seven- 
thirty  and  let  himself  in  with  a  latch- 
key. But  about  twenty  minutes  to 
seven,  as  I  knew  from  bitter  expe- 
rience, the  milkman  turned  up  with  a 
great  clatter  of  cans,  and  deposited 
my  share  outside  my  door. 

I  had  seen  that  milkman  sometimes 
when  I  had  gone  out  for  an  early  ride. 
He  was  a  young  man  about  my  own 
height,  with  a  scrubby  mustache, 
dressed  in  a  white  overall.  On  him  I 
staked  all  my  chances. 

I  went  into  the  darkened  smoking- 
room,  where  the  rays  of  morning  light 
were  beginning  to  creep  through  the 
shutters.    There  I  breakfasted  off  a 


whisky-and-soda  and  some  biscuits 
from  the  cupboard.  By  this  time  it 
was  getting  on  to  six  o'clock. 

I  put  a  pipe  in  my  pocket  and  filled 
my  pouch  from  the  tobacco  jar  on  the 
table  by  the  fireplace.  As  I  poked  into 
the  tobacco  my  fingers  touched  some- 
thing hard,  and  I  drew  out  Scudder's 
little  black  note-book. 

That  seemed  to  me  a  good  omen.  I 
lifted  the  cloth  from  the  body,  and 
was  amazed  at  the  peace  and  dignity 
of  the  dead  face.  "  Good-by,  old 
chap."  1  said;  "  1  am  going  to  do  my 
best  for  you.  Wish  me  well  wherever 
you  are." 

Then  I  hung  about  in  the  hall,  wait- 
ing for  the  milkman.  That  was  the 
worst  part  of  the  business,  for  I  was 
fairly  choking  to  get  out  of  doors. 
Six-thirty  passed,  then  six- forty,  but 
still  he  did  not  come. 

The  fool  had  chosen  this  day  of  all 
days  to  be  late. 

At  one  minute  after  the  quarter  to 
seven  I  heard  the  rattle  of  the  cans 
outside.  1  opened  the  front  door,  and 
there  was  my  man,  singling  out  my 
can  from  a  bunch  he  carried  and 
whistling  through  his  teeth.  He 
jumped  a  bit  at  the  sight  of  me. 

*!  Come  in  here  a  moment,"  I  said : 
"  I  want  a  word  with  you."  And  I 
led  him  into  the  dining-room. 

"  I  reckon  you're  a  bit  of  a  sports- 
man," J  said.  "  and  I  want  you  to  do 
me  a  service.  Lend  me  your  cap  and 
overall  for  ten  minutes,  and  here's  a 
sovereign  for  you." 

His  eyes  opened  at  the  sight  of  the 
gold,  and  he  grinned  broadly.  u  What's 
the  game?  "  he  asked. 

"  A  l>ct."  I  said.  "  I  haven't  time 
to  explain,  but  to  win  it  I've  got  to  be 
a  milkman  for  the  next  ten  minutes. 
All  you've  got  to  do  is  to  stay  here 
till  I  come  back.  You'll  be  a  bit  late, 
but  nobody  will  complain,  and  you'll 
have  that  quid  for  yourself." 

"  Right-o !  "  he  said  cheerily.  M  I 
ain't  the  man  to  spoil  a  bit  of  sport. 
Here's  the  rig.  guv'nor." 

I  stuck  on  his  flat,  blue  hat  and  his 


THE  THIRTY-NINE  STEPS. 


607 


white  overall,  picked  up  the  cans, 
hanged  my  door,  and  went  whistling 
down-stairs.  The  porter  at  the  foot 
told  me  to  shut  my  jaw.  which  sound- 
ed as  if  my  make-up  was  adequate. 

At  first  I  thought  there  was  nobody 
in  the  street.  Then  I  caught  sight  of 
a  policeman  a  hundred  yards  down, 
and  a  loafer  shuffling  past  on  the  other 
side.  Some  impulse  made  me  raise  my 
eyes  to  the  house  opposite,  and  there 
at  a  first-floor  window  was  a  face- 
As  the  loafer  passed  he  looked  up, 
and  I  fancied  a  signal  was  exchanged. 

I  crossed  the  street,  whistling  gaily 
and  imitating  the  jaunty  swing  of  the 
milkman.  Then  I  took  the  first  side 
street  and  turned  up  a  left-hand  turn- 
ing which  led  past  a  lot  of  vacant 
ground.  There  was  no  one  in  the  little 
street,  so  I  dropped  the  milk-cans  in- 
side the  hoarding,  and  sent  the  hat  and 
overall  after  them. 

I  had  only  just  put  on  my  cloth  cap 
when  a  postman  came  round  the  cor- 
ner. I  gave  him  good  morning,  and 
he  answered  me  unsuspiciously.  Just 
then  the  clock  of  a  neighboring  church 
struck  the  hour  of  seven. 

There  was  not  a  moment  to  spare. 
As  soon  as  I  got  to  Euston  Road  I 
took  to  my  heels  and  ran.  The  clock 
at  Euston  Station  showed  five  minutes 
past  the  hour.  At  St.  Pancras  I  had 
no  time  to  take  a  ticket,  let  alone  that 
I  had  not  settled  upon  my  desination. 
A  porter  told  me  the  platform,  and  as 
I  entered  it  I  saw  the  train  already  in 
motion. 

Two  station  officials  blocked  the 
way.  but  I  dodged  them  and  clambered 
into  the  last  carriage. 

Three  minutes  later,  as  we  were 
roaring  through  the  northern  tunnels, 
an  irate  guard  interviewed  me.  He 
wrote  out  for  me  a  ticket  to  Newtown 
Stewart,  a  name  which  had  suddenly 
come  back  to  my  memory,  and  he  con- 
ducted me  from  the  first  -  class  com- 
partment where  I  had  ensconced  my- 
setf  to  a  third-class  smoker,  occupied 
by  a  sailor  and  a  stout  woman  with  a 
child. 


He  went  off  grumbling;  and  as  I 
mopped  my  brow  I  observed  to  my 
companions  in  my  broadest  Scotch 
that  it  was  a  sore  job  catching  trains. 
I  had  already  entered  upon  my  part. 

"  The  impidence  o'  that  gyaird," 
said  the  lady  bitterly.  '*  He  needit  a 
Scotch  tongue  to  pit  him  in  his  place. 
He  was  complainin'  o'  this  wean  no 
haein*  a  ticket  and  her  no  fower  till 
August  twelvemonth,  and  he  was  ob- 
lectin'  to  this  gentleman  spittin*."* 

The  sailor  cheerfully  agreed,  and  I 
started  my  new  life  in  an  atmosphere 
of  protest  against  authority.  I  re- 
minded myself  that  a  week  ago  I  had 
been  finding  the  world  dull. 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  Literary  Innkeeper's  Adventure. 

¥HAD  a  solemn  time  traveling  north 
_|  that  day. 

It  was  fine  May  weather,  with 
the  hawthorn  flowering  on  every 
hedge;  and  I  asked  myself  why.  when 
I  was  still  a  free  man.  I  had  stayed  on 
in  London  and  not  got  the  good  of 
this  heavenly  country.  I  didn't  dare 
face  the  restaurant  car.  but  I  got  a 
luncheon  basket  at  Leeds,  and  shared 
it  with  the  fat  woman. 

Also  I  got  the  morning's  papers, 
with  news  about  starters  for  the  Derby 
and  the  beginning  of  the  cricket  season, 
and  some  paragraphs  about  how  Bal- 
kan affairs  were  settling  down  and  a 
British  squadron  was  going  to  Kiel. 

When  I  had  done  with  them  I  got 
out  Scudder's  little  black  note-book 
and  studied  it.  It  was  pretty  well 
filled  with  jottings,  chiefly  figures, 
though  now  and  then  a  name  was 
printed  in.  For  example.  I  found  the 
words  "  Hofgaard."'  "  Luneville.'*  and 
"  Avocado  "  pretty  often,  and  especial- 
ly the  word  "  Pavia." 

Now  I  was  certain  that  Scudder 
never  did  anything  without  a  reason, 
and  I  was  pretty  sure  that  there  was 
a  cipher  in  all  this.  That  is  a  subject 
which  has  always  interested  me,  and 


60* 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


:e  as  intel- 
lay  during 


I  did  a  bit  at  it  mysclt 
Hgence  officer  at  Pelage 
I  he"  Boer  War. 

|  June  always  hail  a  head  tor  things 
like  chCSfi  and  puzzles,  and  I  used  to 
reckon  myself  pretty  good  at  finding 
out  ciphers.  . 

This  one  looked  like  the  numencal 
kind  where  sets  of  figures  correspond 
to  the  letters  of  the  alphabet,  but  any 
fairly  shrewd  man  can  find  the  clue 
to  that  sort  after  an  hour  or  two's 
work,  and  I  didn't  think  Scudder 
would  have  been  content  with  any- 
thing so  easy.  So  I  fastened  on  the 
printed  words,  for  you  can  make  a 
pretty  good  numerical  cipher  if  you 
have* a  key-word  which  gives  you  the 
sequence  of  the  letters. 

I  tried  for  hours,  but  none  of  the 
words  answered. 

Then  I  fell  asleep,  and  woke  at 
Dumfries  just  in  time  to  bundle  out 
and  get  into  the  slow  Galloway  train. 
There  was  a  man  on  the  platform 
whose  looks  I  didn't  like,  but  he  never 
glanced  at  me;  and  when  I  caught 
sight  of  myself  in  the  mirror  of  an 
automatic  machine.  I  didn't  wonder. 

With  my  brown  face,  my  old 
tweeds  and  my  slouch  I  was  the  very 
model  of  one  "uf  the  hill  farmers  who 
were  crowding  into  the  third-class  car- 
riages. 

I  traveled  with  half  a  dozen  in  an 
atmosphere  of  shag  and  clay  pipes. 
They  had  come  from  the  weekly  mar- 
ket, and  their  mouths  were  full  of 
prices.  I  heard  accounts  of  how  the 
lambing  had  gone  up  the  Cairn  and 
the  Deuch  and  a  dozen  other  myste- 
rious waters. 

Above  half  the  men  had  lunched 
heavily  and  were  highly  flavored  with 
whisky,  but  they  let  me  alone.  We 
rumbled  slowly  into  a  land  of  little 
wooded  glens  and  then  to  a  great,  wide 
moorland  place,  gleaming  with  lochs, 
with  high,  blue  hills  showing  north- 
ward. 

About  five  o'clock  the  carriages  had 
emptied  and  I  was  left  alone,  as  I  had 
hoped.    I  got  out  at  the  next  station. 


a  little  place  whose  name  I  scarcely 
noted,  set  in  the  heart  of  a  bog.  It 
reminded  me  of  one  of  those  forgotten 
little  stations  in  the  Karros. 

An  old  station-master  was  digging 
in  his  garden,  and  with  his  spade  over 
his  shoulder  sauntered  to  the  train,  _ 
took  charge  of  a  parcel,  and  went  back 
to  his  potatoes.  A  child  of  ten  rcr 
ceived  my  ticket,  and  1  emerged  on  a 
white  road  that  straggled  over  the 
brown  moss. 

It  was  a  gorgeous  spring  evening, 
with  every  hill  showing  as  clear  as  a 
cut  amethyst. 

The  air  had  the  queer  rooty  smell  of 
bogs,  but  it  was  as  fresh  as  mid- 
ocean,  and  it  had  the  strangest  effect 
on  my  spirit.  I  actually  felt  light- 
hearted  1  might  have  been  a  boy  out 
for  spring-holiday  tramp,  instead  of  a 
man  of  thirty-seven,  very  much  want- 
ed by  the  police. 

1  felt  just  as  I  used  to  feel  when  I 
was  starting  for  a  big  trek  on  a  frosty 
morning  on  the  high  veld. 

If  you  believe  me,  I  swung  along 
that  road  whistling.  There  was  no 
plan  of  campaign  in  my  head,  only 
just  to  go  on  and  on  in  this  blessed 
honest-smelling  hill  country,  for  every 
mile  put  me  in  better  humor  with  my- 
self. 

In  a  roadside  planting  I  cut  a  walk- 
ing stick  of  hazel,  and  presently  struck 
off  the  highway  up  a  by-path  which  fol- 
low ed  the  glen  of  a  brawling  stream. 

I  reckoned  that  I  was  still  far  ahead 
of  any  pursuit,  and  for  that  night 
might  please  myself.  It  was  some 
hours  since  I  had  tasted  food,  and  I 
was  getting  very  hungry  when  I  came 
to  a  herd's  cottage  set  in  a  nook  beside 
a  waterfall.  A  brown  -  faced  woman 
was  standing  by  the  door,  and  greeted 
me  With  the  kindly  shyness  of  moor- 
land places. 

When  I  asked  for  a  night's  lodging 
she  said  I  was  welcome  to  the  "  bed 
in  the  loft."  and  very  soon  she  set  be- 
fore me  a  hearty  meal  of  ham  and 
eggs,  scones,  and  thick  sweet  milk.  At 
the  darkening  her  man  came  in  from 


THE  THIRTY-NINE  STEPS. 


609 


the  hills,  a  lean  giant  who  in  one  step 
covered  as  much  ground  as  three  paces 
of  ordinary  mortals. 

They  asked  no  questions,  for  they 
had  the  perfect  breeding  of  all  dwell- 
ers in  the  wilds;  but  I  could  see  they 
set  me  down  as  some  kind  of  dealer, 
and  I  took  a  little  trouble  to  confirm 
their  view. 

I  spoke  a  lot  about  cattle,  of  which 
my  host  knew  little,  and  I  picked  up 
from  him  a  good  deal  about  the  local 
Galloway  markets,  which  I  tucked 
away  in  my  memory  for  future  use. 
At  ten  I  was  nodding  in  my  chair,  and 
the  bed  in  the  loft  received  a  weary 
man,  who  never  opened  his  eyes  till 
five  o*clock  set  the  little  homestead 
a  going  once  more. 

They  refused  any  payment,  and  by 
six  I  had  breakfasted  and  was  stri- 
ding southward  again. 

My  notion  was  to  return  to  the  rail- 
way line  a  station  or  two  farther  on 
than  the  place  where  1  had  alighted 
yesterday,  and  to  double  back.  I  reck- 
oned that  was  the  safest  way,  for  the 
police  would  naturally  assume  that  I 
was  always  making  farther  from  Lon- 
don in  the  direction  of  some  western 
port. 

I  thought  I  had  still  a  good  bit  of 
a  start,  for,  as  I  reasoned,  it  would 
take  some  hours  to  fix  the  blame  on 
me  and  several  more  to  identify  the 
fellow  who  got  on  board  the  train  at 
St.  Pancras. 

It  was  the  same  jolly  clear  spring 
weather,  and  I  simply  could  not  con- 
trive to  feel  careworn.  Indeed,  I  was 
in  better  spirits  than  I  had  been  for 
months.  Over  a  long  ridge  of  moor- 
land I  took  my  road,  skirting  the  side 
of  a  high  hill  which  the  herd  had 
called  Cairnsmore  of  Fleet. 

Nesting  curlews  and  plovers  were 
crying  everywhere,  and  the  links -of 
green  pasture  by  the  streams  were 
dotted  with  young  lambs.  All  the 
slackness  of  the  past  months  was  slip- 
ping from  my  bones,  and  I  stepped  out 
like  a  four-year-old.  By  and  by  I  came 
to  a  swell  of  moorland  which  dipped 
3  a-s 


to  the  vale  of  a  little  river,  and  a  mile 
away  in  the  heather  I  saw  the  smoke 
of  a  train. 

The  station,  when  I  reached  it. 
proved  to  be  ideal  for  my  purpose. 
The  moor  surged  up  around  it  and  left 
room  only  for  the  single  line,  the  slen- 
der siding,  a  waiting-room,  an  office, 
the  station-master's  cottage,  and  a  tiny 
yard  of  gooseberries  and  sweet  william. 

There  seemed  no  road  to  it  from 
anywhere,  and  to  increase  the  desola- 
tion the  waves  of  a  loch  lapped  on  their 
gray  granite  beach,  half  a  mile  away. 
I  waited  in  the  deep  heather  till  I 
saw  the  smoke  of  an  east-going  train 
on  the  horizon.  Then  I  approached 
the  tiny  booking-office  and  took  a 
ticket  for  Dumfries. 

The  only  occupants  of  the  carriage 
were  an  old  shepherd  and  his  dog — a 
wall-eyed  brute  that  I  mistrusted.  The 
man  was  asleep,  and  on  the  cushions 
beside  him  was  that  morning's  Scots- 
man. Eagerly  I  seized  on  it,  for  I 
fancied  it  would  tell  me  something. 

There  were  two  columns  about  the 
Portland  Place  murder,  as  it  was 
called.  My  man  Paddock  had  given 
the  alarm  and  had  the  milkman  arrest- 
ed. Poor  devil,  it  looked  as  if  the  lat- 
ter had  earned  his  sovereign  hardly ; 
but  for  me  he  had  been  cheap  at  the 
price,  for  he  seemed  to  have  occupied 
the  police  the  better  part  of  the  day. 

In  the  stop-press  news  I  found  a  fur- 
ther instalment  of  the  story. 

The  milkman  had  been  released,  I 
read,  and  the  true  criminal,  about 
whose  identity  the  police  were  reti- 
cent, was  believed  to  have  got  away 
from  London  by  one  of  the  northern 
lines.  There  was  a  short  note  about 
me  as  the  owner  of  the  flat. 

I  guessed  the  police  had  stuck  that 
in,  as  a  clumsy  contrivance  to  per- 
suade me  that  I  was  unsuspected. 

There  was  nothing  else  in  the  paper; 
nothing  about  foreign  politics  or  Karo- 
lides  or  the  things  that  had  interested 
Scudder.  I  laid  it  down,  and  found 
that  we  were  approaching  the  station 
at  which  I  had  got  out  yesterday.  The 


610 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


potato  -  digging  station  -  master  had 
been  gingered  up  into  some  activity, 
for  the  west-going  train  was  waiting 
to  let  us  pass,  and  from  it  had  descend- 
ed three  men.  who  were  asking  lum 
questions. 

I  supposed  that  they  were  the  local 
police  who  had  been  stirred  up  by 
Scotland  Yard  and  had  traced  me  as 
far  as  this  one-horse  siding. 

Sitting  well  back  in  the  shadow.  I 
watched  them  carefully.  One  of  them 
had  a  hook  and  took  down  notes.  The 
old  potato-digger  seemed  to  have 
turned  peevish,  but  the  child  who  had 
collected  my  ticket  wa>  talking  volubly. 
All  the  party  looked  out  across  the 
moor  where  the  white  road  departed. 
I  h  <ped  they  were  going  to  take  up  my 
tracks  there. 

As  we  moved  away  from  that  sta- 
tion my  companion  woke  up.  He 
fixed  me  with  a  wondering  glance, 
kicked  his  dog  viciously,  and  inquired 
where  he  was.  Clearly  he  was  very 
drunk. 

"  That's  what  comes  o'  bein'  a  tee- 
totaler." he  observed  in  bitter  tones. 

I  expressed  my  surprise  that  in  him 
I  should  have  met  a  blue-ribbon  stal- 
wart. 

"  Aye,  but  I'm  a  strong  teetotaler," 
he  said  pugnaciously.  "  I  took  the 
pledge  last  Martimmass,  and  I  havena 
touched  a  drop  o'  whisky  sinsyne.  No 
even  at  Hogmanay,  though  1  was  sair 
tempted." 

He  swung  his  heels  up  on  the  seat 
and  burrowed  a  frowsy  head  into  the 
cushions. 

"  And  that's  a'  I  get."  he  moaned. 

\  heid  better  than  hell  fire  and  twae 
een  lookin'  different  ways  for  Sun- 
day." 

"  What  did  it?"  I  asked. 

"  A  drink  they  ca'  brandv.  Bein'  a 
teetotaler,  I  keepit  off  the  whisky,  but 
I  wa^  nip-nippin'  a'  day  yestereen  at 
this  brandy,  and  I  doubt* I'll  no  be  weel 
for  a  fortnicht." 

His  voice  died  away  into  a  stutter, 
and  sleep  once  more  laid  its  heavy  hand 
on  him. 


My  plan  had  been  to  get  out  at  some 
station  down  the  line,  but  the  train 
suddenly  gave  me  a  better  chance,  for 
it  came  to  a  standstill  at  the  end  of  a 
culvert  which  spanned  a  brawling 
porter-colored  river.  1  looked  out, 
and  saw  that  every  carriage  window 
was  closed  and  no  human  figure  ap- 
peared in  the  landscape. 

So  1  opened  the  door  and  dropped 
quickly  into  the  tangle  of  hazels 
which  edged  the  line. 

It  would  have  been  all  right  but  for 
that  infernal  dog.  Under  the  impres- 
sion that  I  was  decamping  with  its 
master's  belongings,  it  started  to  bark 
and  all  but  got  me  by  the  trousers. 
This  woke  up  the  herd  who  stood  bawl- 
ing at  the  carriage  door  in  the  belief 
that  1  had  committed  suicide. 

I  crawled  through  the  thicket, 
reached  the  edge  of  the  stream,  and 
in  cover  of  the  bushes  put  a  hundred 
yards  or  so  behind  me. 

Then  from  my  shelter  I  peered  back, 
and  saw  the  guard  had  several  passen- 
gers gathered  round  the  open  carriage 
door  and  staring  in  my  direction.  I 
could  not  have  made  a  more  public  de- 
parture if  I  had  left  with  a  bugler  and 
a  brass  band. 

Happily  the  drunken  herd  provided 
a  diversion.  He  and  his  dog.  which 
was  attached  by  a  rope  to  bis  waist, 
suddenly  cascaded  out  of  the  carriage, 
landed  on  their  heads  on  the  track,  and 
rolled  some  way  down  the  bank  to- 
ward the  water.  In  the  rescue  which 
followed,  the  dog  bit  somebody,  for  I 
could  hear  the  sound  of  hard  swear- 
ing. 

Presently  they  had  forgotten  me; 
and  when  after  a  quarter  of  a  mile's 
crawl  I  ventured  to  look  back,  the  train 
had  started  again  and  was  vanishing 
in  the  cutting. 

I  was  in  a  wide  semicircle  of  moor- 
land, with  the  brown  river  as  radius 
and  the  high  hills  forming  the  north- 
ern circumference.  There  was  not  a 
sign  or  sound  of  a  human  being; 
only  the  plashing  water  and  the  inter- 
minable crying  of  curlews.   Yet,  oddly 


THE  THIRTY-NINE  STEPS. 


en 


enough,  for  the  first  time  I  felt  the 
terror  of  the  hunted  on  me. 

It  was  not  the  police,  that  I  thought 
of,  but  the  other  folk,  who  knew  that 
I  knew  Scudder s  secret  and  dared  not 
let  me  live.  I  was  certain  that  they 
would  pursue  me  with  a  keenness  and 
vigilance  unknown  to  the  British  law, 
and  that  once  their  grip  closed  on  me 
I  should  find  no  mercy. 

I  looked  back,  but  there  was  nothing 
in  the  landscape. 

The  sun  glinted  on  the  metals  of 
the  line  and  the  wet  stone9  in  the 
stream,  and  you  could  not  have  found 
a  more  peaceful  sight  in  the  world. 
Nevertheless,  I  started  to  run.  Crouch- 
ing low  in  the  runnels  of  the  bog,  I 
ran  till  the  sweat  blinded  my  eyes. 
The  mood  did  not  leave  me  till  I  had 
reached  the  rim  of  mountain  and  flung 
myself,  panting,  on  a  ridge  high  above 
the  young  waters  of  the  brown  river. 

From  my  vantage  ground  I  could 
scan  the  whole  moor  right  away  to  the 
railway  line,  and  to  the  south  of  it, 
where  green  fields  took  the  place  of 
heather.  I  have  eyes  like  a  hawk,  but 
I  could  see  nothing  moving  in  the 
whole  countryside. 

Then  I  looked  east  beyond  the  ridge 
and  saw  a  new  kind  of  landscape — 
shallow  green  valleys  with  plentiful  fir 
plantations  and  the  faint  lines  of  dust 
which  spoke  of  highroads. 

Last  of  all  I  looked  into  the  blue 
May  sky,  and  there  I  saw  that  which 
set  my  pulses  racing.  Low  down  in 
the  south  a  monoplane  was  climbing 
into  the  heavens.  I  was  as  certain  as 
if  I  had  been  told  that  that  aeroplane 
was  looking  for  me.  and  that  it  did 
not  belong  to  the  police.  For  an  hour 
or  two  I  watched  it  from  a  pit  of 
heather. 

It  flew  low  along  the  hilltops,  and 
then  in  narrow  circles  back  over  the 
valley  up  which  I  had  come.  Then  it 
seemed  to  change  its  mind,  rose  to  a 
great  height,  and  flew  away  back  to 
the  south. 

I  did  not  like  this  espionage  from 
the  air,  and  I  began  to  think  less  well 


of  the  countryside  I  had  chosen  for  n 
refuge.  These  heather  hills  were  no 
sort  of  cover  if  my  enemies  were  in 
the  sky.  I  must  find  a  different  kind 
of  sanctuary. 

I  looked  with  more  satisfaction  to 
the  green  country  beyond  the  ridge, 
for  there  I  should  find  woods  and 
stone  houses. 

About  six  in  the  evening  I  came  out 
of  the  moorland  to  a  white  ribbon  of 
road  which  wound  up  the  narrow  vale 
of  a  lowland  stream.  As  I  followed  it, 
fields  gave  place  to  banks,  the  glen  be- 
came a  plateau,  and  presently  I  had 
reached  a  kind  of  pass,  where  a  soli- 
tary house  smoked  in  the  twilight. 

The  road  swung  over  a  bridge,  and 
leaning  on  the  parapet  was  a  man. 

He  was  smoking  a  long  clay  pipe 
and  studying  the  water  with  spectacled 
eyes.  In  his  left  hand  was  a  small 
book,  with  a  finger  marking  the  place. 
Slowly  he  repeated — 

"As  when  a  Gryphen  through  the  wil- 
derness 

With  winged  step,  o'er  hill  and  moory 
dale 

Pursues  the  Arimaspian — H 

He  jumped  round  as  my  step  rung 
on  the  keystone,  and  I  saw  a  pleasant, 
sunburnt,  boyish  face. 

"  Good  evening  to  you."  he  said 
gravely.  "  It's  a  fine  night  for  the 
road." 

t  The  smell  of  wood  smoke  and  of 
some  savorv  roast  floated  to  me  from 
the  house.  "  Is  that  place  an  inn  ?  " 
I  asked. 

44  At  your  service,"  he  said  politely; 
11 1  am  the  landlord,  sir,  and  I  hope 
you  will  stay  the  night,  for  to  tell  you 
the  truth  I  have  had  no  company  for 
a  week." 

I  pulled  myself  up  on  the  parapet 
of  the  bridge  and  filled  my  pipe.  I 
began  to  detect  an  ally. 

4'  You're  young  to  be  an  innkeeper," 
I  said. 

44  My  father  died  a  year  ago  anil 
left  me  the  business.  I  live  there  with 
my  grandmother.    It's  a  slow  job  for 


612 

'a  young  man,  and  it  wasn't  my  choice 

of  profession." 
"Which  was?" 

He  actually  blushed.  "I  want  to 
Write  books,"  he  said. 
*  "And  what  better  chance  could  you 
ask  ?"  I  cried.  "Man.  I've  often 
thought  that  an  innkeeper  would  make 
the  best  storv-teller  in  the  world. 

*  Not  now."  he  said  eagerly. 
"  Maybe  in  the  old  days  when  you 
had  pilgrims  and  ballad  -  makers  and 
highwaymen  and  mail-coaches  on  the 
road;  but  not  now.  Nothing  comes 
here  but  motor-cars  full  of  tat  women, 
who  stop  tor  lunch,  and  a  fisherman 
or  two  in  the  spring  and  the  shooting 
tenants  in  August.  There  is  not  much 
material  to  be  got  out  of  that.  I  want 
to  see  life,  to  travel  the  world,  and 
write  things  like  Kipling  and  Conrad. 
But  the  most  I've  done  yet  is  to  get 
some  verses  printed  in  Chambers's 
journal." 

I  looked  at  the  inn.  standing  golden 
in  the  sunset  against  the  wine-red  hills. 

"  I've  knocked  a  bit  about  the  world, 
and  I  wouldn't  despise  such  a  hermi- 
tage. D'you  think  that  adventure  is 
found  only  in  the  tropics  or  among 
gentry  in  red  shirts?  Maybe  you're 
rubbing  shoulders  with  it  at  this  mo- 
ment." 

"  That's  what  Kipling  says,"  he 
said,  his  eyes  lightening,  and  he  quoted 
some  verse  about  "  Romance  bringing 
tip  the  nine-fifteen." 

"  Here's  a  true  tale  for  you  then," 
I  cried,  "  and  a  month  hence  you  can 
make  a  novel  out  of  it." 

Sitting  on  the  bridge  in  the  soft 
May  gloaming,  I  pitched  him  a  lovely 
yarn.  It  was  true  in  essentials,  too, 
though  I  altered  the  minor  details.  I 
made  out  that  I  was  a  mining  magnate 
from  Kimberley.  who  had  had  a  lot 
of  trouble  with  L  D.  B.*  and  had 


AIX- STORY  WEEKLY. 


shown  up  a  gang.  They  had  pursued 
me  across  the  ocean  and  had  killed 
my  best  friend,  and  were  now  on 

mv  track. 

I  told  the  story  well,  though  I  say 

it  who  shouldn't. 

I  pictured  a  flight  across  the  Kala- 
hari to  German  Africa,  the  crackling, 
parching  days,  the  wonderful  blue- 
velvet  nights.  I  described  an  attack 
on  my  life  on  the  voyage  home,  and 
I  made  a  really  horrid  affair  of  the 
Portland  Place  murder. 

w  You're  looking  for  adventure!" 
I  cried ;  "  well,  you've  found  it  here. 
The  devils  are  after  me,  and  the  police 
are  after  them.  It's  a  race  that  I 
mean  to  win." 

"  By  God."  he  whispered,  drawing 
his  breath  in  sharply,  it  is  all  pure 
Rider  Haggard  and  Conan  Doyle !  " 

"  You  believe  me,"  I  said  grate- 
fully. 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  and  he  held  out 
his  hand.  "  I  believe  everything  out 
of  the  common.  The  only  thing  to 
distrust  is  the  normal." 

He  was  very  young,  but  he  was  the 
man  for  mv  money. 

"  I  think  they're  off  my  track  for 
the  moment,  but  I  must  lie  close  for 
a  couple  of  days.  Can  vou  take  me 
in?" 

He  caught  my  elbow  in  his  eager- 
ness and  drew  me  toward  the  house. 
"  You  can  lie  as  snug  here  as  if  you 
were  in  a  mouse-hole.  I'll  see  that  no- 
body blabs,  either.  And  you'll  give 
me  some  more  material  about  your 
adventures?  " 

As  I  entered  the  inn  porch  I  heard 
from  far  off  the  beat  of  an  engine. 
There  silhouetted  against  the  dusky 
west  was  my  friend,  the  monoplane. 

He  gave  me  a  room  at  the  back  of 
the  house  With  a  fine  outlook  over  the 


This  refers  to  the  Illicit  Diamond  Buyers  of  South  Africa.  As  explained  by  Dr.  George 
Frederick  Kunz  in  an  address  before  the  National  Geographic  Society  (1903):  "The  diamond  min- 
ing companies  of  South  Africa  have  unusual  power  under  the  laws  of  the  colony  so  that  no  one  is  per- 
mitted to  buy  or  sell  diamonds  unless  authorized  rough  diamond  buyers.  Any  one  in  whose  possession 
uncut  stones  are  found  is  brought  to  immediate  punishment  and  the  penalty  is  unusually  severe  lor  in- 
nocent or  guilty  buyers  or  guilty  dealers.  The  detective  system  is  remarkable.  People  in  all  walk* 
of  life  belong  to  this  special  force.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  importance  of  the  diamond  mines  under 
Cecil  Rhodes  and  his  stringent  laws,  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  mine  diamonds  with  profit." 


THE  THIRTY-NINE  STEPS. 


613 


plateau,  and  he  made  me  free  of  his 
own  room,  which  was  stacked  with 
cheap  editions  of  his  favorite  authors. 
I  never  saw  the  grandmother,  so  I 
guessed  she  was  bedridden. 

An  old  woman  called  Margit  brought 
me  my  meals,  and  the  innkeeper  was 
around  me  at  all  hours. 

I  wanted  some  time  to  myself,  so  I 
invented  a  job  for  him.  He  had  a 
motorcycle,  and  I  sent  him  oft*  next 
morning  for  the  daily  paper,  which 
usually  arrived  with  the  post  in  the 
late  afternoon.  I  told  him  to  keep  his 
eyes  skinned  and  make  note  of  any 
strange  figure  he  saw,  keeping  a  spe- 
cial, shaqj  lookout  for  motors  and 
aeroplanes. 

Then  I  sat  down  in  real  earnest  to 
Scudder's  note-book. 

He  came  back  at  midday  with  the 
Scotsman.  There  was  nothing  in  it 
except  some  further  evidence  of  Pad- 
dock and  the  milkman,  and  a  repeti- 
tion of  yesterday's  statement  that  the 
murderer  had  gone  north.  But  there 
was  a  long  article,  reprinted  from  the 
Times,  about  Karolides  and  the  state 
of  affairs  in  the  Balkans,  though 
there  was  no  mention  of  any  visit  to 
England.  I  got  rid  of  the  innkeeper 
for  the  afternoon,  for  T  was  getting 
very  warm  in  my  search  for  the  cipher. 

\>  1  told  you.  it  wTas  a  numerical 
cipher,  and  by  an  elaborate  system  of 
experiments  1  had  pretty  well  discov- 
ered what  were  the  nulls  and  stops. 
The  trouble  was  the  key  -  word,  and 
when  I  thought  of  the  odd  million 
words  he  might  have  used  1  felt 
pretty  hopeless.  But  about  three 
o'clock  I  had  a  sudden  inspiration. 

The  name  Julia  Czedienyi  flashed 
across  my  memory.  Scudder  had  said 
it  was  the  key  to  the  Karolides  busi- 
ness and  it  occurred  to  me  to  try  it 
on  liis  cipher. 

It  worked.  The  five  letters  of 
"Julia"  gave  me  the  position  of  the 
vowels.  A  was  J,  the  tenth  letter  of 
the  alphabet,  and  so  represented  by  X 
in  the  cipher.  "  Czechenji  "  gave  me 
the  numerals  for  the  principal  conson- 


ants. 1  scribbled  that  scheme  on  a  bit 
of  paper  and  sat  down  to  read  Scud- 
der's pages. 

In  half  an  hour  I  was  reading  with 
a  whitish  face  and  fingers  that  drum- 
med on  the  table.  I  glanced  out  of 
the  window  and  saw  a  big  touring- 
car  coming  up  the  glen  toward  the 
inn.  It  drew  up  at  the  door  and  there 
was  the  soimd  of  people  alighting. 
There  seemed  to  be  two  of  them,  men 
in  acquascutums  and  tweed  caps. 

Ten  minutes  later  the  innkeeper 
slipped  into  the  room,  his  eyes  bright 
with  excitement. 

u  There's  two  chaps  below  looking 
for  you,"  he  whispered.  "  They're  SB 
the  dining-room  having  whiskys  and 
sodas.  They  asked  about  you  and 
said  they  had  hoped  to  meet  you  here. 
Oh!  and  they  described  you  jolly  well, 
down  to  your  boots  and  shirt.  I  told 
them  you  had  been  here  last  night  and 
had  gone  off  on  a  mortorcycle  this 
morning,  and  one  of  the  chaps  swore 
like  a  navvy.''  I  made  him  tell  me 
what  they  looked  like. 

One  was  a  dark-eyed,  thin  fellow 
with  bushy  eyebrows,  the  other  was 
always  smiling  and  lisped  in  his  talk. 
Neither  was  any  kind  of  foreigner;  on 
this  my  young  friend  was  positive. 

I  took  a  bit  of  paper 1  and  wrote 
these  words  in  German  as  if  they 
were  part  of  a  letter: 

Black  Stone.  Scudder  had  got  on  to 
this,  but  he  could  not  act  for  a"  fortnight. 
I  doubt  if  I  can  do  any  good  now,  espe- 
cially as  Karolides  is  uncertain  about  his 
plans.  But  if  Mr.  T.  advises  I  will  do 
the  best  I  .  .  . 

I  manufactured  it  rather  neatly,  so 
that  it  looked  like  a  loose  page  of  a 
private  letter. 

"  Take  this  down  and  say  it  was 
found  in  my  bedroom  and  ask  them  to 
return  it  to  me  if  they  overtake  me." 

Three  minutes  later  I  heard  the  car 
begin  to  move,  and  peeping  from  be- 
hind the  curtain,  caught  sight  of  the 
two  figures.  One  was  slim,  the  other 
was  sleek:  that  was  the  most  I  could 
make  of  my  reconnaissance. 


614 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


The  innkeeper  appeared  in  great  ex- 
citement. "  Your  paper  woke  them 
up  -  he  said  gleefully.  "  The  dark 
fellow  went  as  white  as  death  and 
cursed  like  blazes,  ami  the  fat  one 
whistled  and  looked  ugly.  They  paid 
for  their  drinks  with  half  a  sovereign 
and  wouldn't  wait  for  change." 

"Now  I'll  tell  ><>u  what  1  want  you 
to  do,"  I  said.  "  Get  on  your  bicycle 
and  go  off  to  Xewton  Stewart  to  the 
chief  constable.  Describe  the  two 
men.  and  say  you  suspect  them  of 
having  had  something  to  do  with  the 
London  murder.  You  can  invent  rea- 
sons. The  two  will  come  back,  never 
fear.  Not  to-night,  for  they'll  follow 
me  forty  miles  along  the  road,  but 
first  thing  to-morrow  morning.  Tell 
the  police  to  be  here  bright  and  early." 

He  set  off  like  a  docile  child,  while 
I  worked  at  Scudder's  notes. 

When  he  came  back  we  dined  to- 
gether and  in  common  decency  I  had 
to  let  him  pump  me.  I  gave  him  a 
lot  of  stuff  about  lion  hunts  and  the 
Matabele  War.  thinking  all  the  while 
what  tame  businesses  these  were  com- 
pared to  this  I  was  now  engaged  in. 
When  he  went  to  bed  I  sat  up  and 
finished  Scudder. 

I  smoked  in  a  chair  till  daylight  for 
I  couldn't  sleep. 

About  eight  next  morning  I  wit- 
nessed the  arrival  of  two  constables 
and  a  sergeant.  They  put  their  car  in 
a  coach-house  under  the  innkeeper's 
instructions  and  entered  the  house. 
Twenty  minutes  later  I  saw  from  my 
window  a  second  car  come  across  the 
plateau  from  the  opposite  direction. 

It  did  not  come  up  to  the  inn,  but 
stopped  two  hundred  yards  off  in  the 
Shelter  of  a  patch  of  wood.  T  noticed 
that  its  occupants  carefully  reversed  it 
before  leaving  it.  A  minute  or  two 
later  I  heard  their  steps  on  the  gravel 
outside  the  window. 

My  plan  had  been  to  lie  hid  in  mv 
bedroom,  and  see  what  happened.  I 
had  a  notion  that  if  I  could  bring  the 
police  and  my  other  more  dangerous 
pursuers   together,   something  might 


work  out  of  it  to  my  advantage.  But 
now  I  had  a  better  idea. 

I  scribbled  a  line  of  thanks  to  my 
host,  opened  the  window  and  dropped 
quietly  into  a  gooseberry  bush. 

Unobserved  I  crossed  the  dike, 
crawled  down  the  side  of  a  tributary 
burn,  and  won  the  highroad  on  the 
far  side  of  the  patch  of  trees.  There 
stood  the  car,  very  spick  and  span  in 
the  morning  sunlight,  but  with  the 
dust  on  her  which  told  of  a  long  jour- 
ney I  started  her,  jumped  into  the 
chauffeur's  seat,  and  stole  gently  out 
on  to  the  plateau. 

Almost  at  once  the  road  dipped  so 
that  I  lost  sight  of  the  inn,  but  the 
wind  seemed  to  bring  me  the  sound 
of  angry  voices. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
The  Radical  Candidate's  Adventure. 

YOU  may  picture  me  driving  that 
forty-horse-power  car  for  all  she 
was  worth  over  the  crisp  moor 
roads  on  that  shining  May  morning, 
glancing  back  at  first  over  my  shoul- 
der and  looking  anxiously  to  the  next 
turning;  then  driving  with  a  vague 
eye,  just  wide  enough  awake  to  keep 
on  the  highway. 

For  I  was  thinking  desperately  of 
what  T  had  found  in  Scudder's  note- 
book. 

The  little  man  had  told  me  a  pack 
of  lies.  All  his  yarns  about  the  Bal- 
kans and  the  Foreign  Office  confer- 
ence were  eye-wash  and  so  was  Karo- 
lides.  And  yet  not  quite,  as  you  shall 
hear. 

T  had  staked  everything  on  my  be- 
lief in  his  story  and  had  been  let 
down;  here  was  his  book  telling  me  a 
different  tale;  and  instead  of  being 
once-bit-twice-shv.  I  believed  it  abso- 
lutely.   Why?  I' don't  know. 

It  rang  desperately  true;  and  the 
first  yam,  if  you  understand  me,  had 
been  in  a  queer  way  true  also  in  spirit. 
The  fifteenth  day  of  June  was  going 
to  be  a  day  of  destiny,  a  bigger  des- 


THE  THIRTY-NINE  STEPS. 


615 


tiny  than  the  killing  of  a  man.  It 
was  so  big  that  I  didn't  blame  Scud- 
der  for  keeping  me  out  of  the  game, 
and  wanting  to  play  a  lone  hand. 

That,  I  was  pretty  clear,  was  his  in- 
tention. 

He  had  told  me  something  which 
sounded  big  enough,  but  the  real  thing 
was  so  immortally  big  that  he,  the 
man  who  had  found  it  out,  wanted  it 
all  for  himself.  I  didn't  blame  him. 
It  was  risks  after  all  that  he  was 
chiefly  greedy  about. 

The  whole  story  was  in  the  notes — 
with  gaps,  you  understand,  which  he 
would  have  filled  up  from  his  me- 
mory. 

He  stuck  down  his  authorities  too, 
and  had  an  odd  trick  of  giving  them 
all  a  numerical  value  and  then  strik- 
ing a  balance,  which  stood  for  the  re- 
liability of  each  stage  in  the  yarn. 
The  three  names  he  had  printed  were 
authorities,  and  there  was  a  man,  Du- 
crosne.  who  got  five  out  of  a  pos- 
sible five,  and  another  fellow  \m- 
mersfoort.  who  got  three. 

The  bare  bones  of  the  tale  were  all 
that  was  in  the  book — these,  and  one 
queer  phrase  which  occurred  half  a 
dozen  times  inside  brackets,  u  Thirty- 
nine  steps  "  was  the  phrase,  and  at  its 
last  time  of  use  it  ran,  a  Thirty-nine 
Steps  I  counted  them;  high  tide  to :ij 

P.M." 

I  could  make  nothing  of  that. 

The  first  thing  I  learned  was  that 
it  was  no  question  of  preventing  a 
war.  That  was  coming,  as  sure  as 
Christmas;  had  been  arranged,  said 
Scudder,  ever  since  February,  19 12. 
Karolides  was  going  to  be  the  occa- 
sion. 

He  was  booked  all  right  and  was 
gotflg  to  hand  in  his  checks  on  June 
15,  two  weeks  and  four  days  from 
that  May  morning.  I  gathered  from 
Scudder s  notes  that  nothing  on  earth 
could  prevent  that.  His  talk  of  F.pi- 
n.te  guards  that  would  skin  their  own 
grandmothers  was  all  nonsense. 

The  second  thing  was  that  this  war 
was  going  to  come  as  a  mighty  sur- 


prise to  Britain.  Karolides's  death 
would  set  the  Balkans  by  the  ears,  and 
then  Vienna  would  chip  in  with  an 
ultimatum.  Russia  wouldn't  like  that, 
and  there  would  be  high  words. 

But  Berlin  would  play  the  peace- 
maker and  pour  oil  on  the  waters,  till 
suddenly  she  would  find  a  good  cause 
for  a  quarrel,  pick  it  up.  and  in  five 
hours  let  fly  at  us.  That  was  the 
idea,  and  a  pretty  good  one  too. 

Honey  and  fair  speeches  and  then 
a  stroke  in  the  dark.  While  we  were 
talking  about  the  good  will  and  good 
intentions  of  Germany,  our  coast 
would  be  silently  ringed  with  mines, 
and  submarines  would  be  waiting  for 
every  battleship. 

But  all  this  depended  upon  the 
third  thing  which  was  due  to  happen 
on  June  15.  I  would  never  have 
grasped  this,  if  I  hadn't  once  hap- 
pened to  meet  a  French  staff  officer, 
coming  back  from  West  Africa,  who 
had  told  me  a  lot  of  things. 

One  was  that  in  spite  of  all  the  non- 
sense talked  in  Parliament  there  was 
a  real  working  alliance  between 
France  and  Britain,  and  that  the  two 
General  Staffs  met  even-  now  and 
then  and  made  plans  for  joint  action 
in  time  of  war.  Well,  in  June,  M. 
Rover,  the  French  minister  of  ma- 
rine, was  coming  over  from  Paris, 
and  he  was  going  to  get  nothing  less 
than  a  statement  of  the  disposition  of 
the  British  home  fleet  on  mobilization. 

At  least  I  gathered  it  was  some- 
thing like  that;  anyhow,  it  was  some- 
thing uncommonly  important.  But 
on  the  15th  day  of  June  there  were 
to  be  others  in  London — others  at 
whom  I  could  only  guess.  Scudder 
was  content  to  call  them  collectively 
the  Black  Stone. 

They  represented  not  our  allies,  but 
our  deadly  foes,  and  the  information, 
destined  for  France,  was  to  be 
diverted  to  their  pockets.  And  it  was 
to  he  used,  remember — used  a  week 
or  two  later,  with  great  guns  and 
swift  torpedoes,  suddenly  in  the  dark- 
ness of  a  summer  night. 


616 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


This  was  the  story  I  had  been  de- 
ciphering in  a  back  room  of  a  coun- 
try inn,  overlooking  a  cabbage  gar- 
den. This  was  the  story  that  hum- 
med in  my  brain,  as  I  swung  in  the 
big  touring-car  from  glen  to  glen. 

My  first  impulse  had  been  to  write 
a  letter  to  the  Prime  Minister,  but  a 
little  reflection  convinced  me  that  that 
would  be  useless.    Who  would  believe 

m talc?  .  , 

I  must  show  a  sign,  some  token  in 
proof,  and  Heaven  knew  what  that 
could  be. 

Above  all  I  must  keep  going  myself, 
ready  to  act  when  things  got  riper, 
and  that  was  going  to  be  no  light  job 
with  the  police  of  the  British  Isles  in 
full  cry  after  me.  and  the  watchers 
of  the  Black  Stone  running  silently 
and  swiftly  on  my  trail. 

T  had  no  very  clear  purpose  in  my 
journey,  but  I  steered  east  by  the  sun, 
for  I  remembered  from  the  map  that 
if  I  went  north  I  would  come  into  a 
region  of  coal-pits  and  industrial 
towns.  Presently  I  was  dowrn  from 
the  moorlands  and  traversing  the 
broad  haugh  of  a  river. 

For  miles  I  ran  alongside  a  park 
Avail,  and  in  a  break  of  the  trees  I 
saw  a  great  castle. 

I  swung  through  little  old  thatched 
streams,  and  past  gardens  blazing 
with  hawthorn  and  yellow  laburnum. 

The  land  was  so  deep  in  peace  that 
I  could  scarcely  believe  that  some- 
where behind  me  were  those  who 
sought  my  life;  ay.  and  that  in  a 
month's  time,  unless  I  had  the  al- 
mightiest  of  luck,  these  round,  coun- 
try faces  would  be  pinched  and  star- 
ing, and  men  would  l>e  lying  dead  in 
English  fields. 

About  midday  I  entered  a  long, 
straggling  village  and  had  a  mind  to 
stop  and  eat.  Half-way  down  was 
the  post -office,  and  on  the  steps  of  it 
stood  the  post-mistress  and  a  police- 
man Jianl  at  work  conning  a  telegram. 

When  they  saw  me  they  wakened 
up,  and  the  policeman  advanced  with 
raised  hand  and  cried  on  me  to  stop. 


I  nearly  was  fool  enough  to  obey. 
Then  it  flashed  upon  me  that  the  wire 
had  to  do  with  me,  that  my  friends 
at  the  inn  had  come  to  an  understand- 
ing and  were  united  in  desiring  to  see 
more  of  me,  and  that  it  had  been  easy 
enough  for  them  to  wire  the  descrip- 
tion of  me  and  the  car  to  thirty  vil- 
lages through  which  I  might  pass. 

I  released  the  brakes  just  in  time. 
As  it  was  the  policeman  made  a  claw 
at  the  hood  and  only  dropped  off 
when  he  got  my  left  in  his  eye. 

I  saw  that  main  roads  were  no 
place  for  me,  and  turned  into  the  by- 
ways. It  wasn't  an  easy  job  without 
a  map,  for  there  was  the  risk  of  get- 
ting onto  a  farm  road  and  ending 
in  a  duck-pond  or  a  stable-yard,  and 
I  couldn't  afford  that  kind  of  delay. 

I  began  to  see  what  an  ass  I  had 
been  to  steal  the  car. 

The  big  green  brute  would  be  the 
safest  kind  of  clue  to  me  over  the 
breadth  of  Scotland.  If  I  left  it  and 
took  to  my  feet,  it  would  be  dis- 
covered in  an  hour  or  two  and  I  would 
get  no  start  in  the  race. 

The  immediate  thing  to  do  was  to 
get  to  the  lonliest  roads.  These  I 
soon  found  when  I  struck  up  a  tribu- 
tary of  the  big  river,  and  got  into  a 
glen  with  steep  hills  all  about  me.  and 
a  corkscrew  road  at  the  end  which 
climbed  over  a  pass. 

Here  I  met  nobody,  but  it  was  tak- 
ing me  too  far  north,  so  I  slued  east 
along  a  bad  track  and  finally  struck  a 
big  double-line  railway.  Away  below 
me  I  saw  another  hroadish  valley,  and 
it  occurred  to  me  that  if  I  crossed  it 
I  might  find  some  remote  hostelry  to 
pass  the  night. 

The  evening  was  now  drawing  in. 
and  1  was  furiously  hungry,  for  I  had 
eaten  nothing  since  breakfast  except 
a  couple  of  buns  I  had  bought  from  a 
baker's  .  art. 

Just  then  I  heard  a  noise  in  the  sky. 
and  I.,  nnd  behold  there  was  that  in- 
fernal aeroplane,  flying  low.  about  a 
dozen  miles  to  the  south  and  rapidly 
com i ng  toward  inc. 


THE  THIRTY-NINE  STEPS. 


617 


I  had  the  sense  to  remember  that  on 
a  bare  moor  I  was  at  the  aeroplane's 
mercy,  and  that  my  only  chance  was 
to  get  to  the  leafy  cover  of  the  valley. 

Down  the  hill  I  went  like  blue 
lightning,  screwing  my  head  round 
whenever  I  dared,  to  watch  that 
damned  flying  machine.  Soon  T  was 
on  a  road  between  hedges,  and  dip- 
ping to  the  deep-cut  glen  of  a  stream. 

Then  came  a  bit  of  thick  wood 
where  I  slackened  speed. 

Suddenly  on  my  left  T  heard  the 
hoot  of  another  car  and  realized  to 
my  horror  that  I  was  almost  upon  a 
couple  of  gate-posts  through  which  a 
private  road  debouched  on  the  high- 
way. My  horn  gave  an  agonized 
roar,  but  it  was  too  late. 

I  clapped  on  my  brakes,  but  my  im- 
petus was  too  great,  and  there  before 
me  a  car  was  sliding  athwart  my 
course.  In  a  second  there  would  have 
been  the  deuce  of  a  wreck.  I  did  the 
only  thing  possible,  and  ran  slap  into 
the  hedge  on  the  right  trusting  to  find 
something  soft  beyond. 

But  there  I  was  mistaken. 

My  car  slithered  through  the  hedge 
like  butter  and  then  gave  a  sickening 
plunge  forward.  I  saw  what  was 
reining,  leaped  on  the  seat  and  would 
have  jumped  out.  But  a  stout  branch 
of  hawthorn  got  me  in  the  chest, 
lifted  me  up  and  held  me.  while  a  ton 
or  two  of  expensive  metal  slipped  be- 
low me.  bucked  and  pitched,  and  then 
dropped  with  an  almighty  smash  fifty 
feet  to  the  bed  of  the  stream. 

I  subsided  first  on  the  hedge,  and 
then  very  gently  on  a  bower  of  net- 
tles. As  I  scrambled  to  my  feet  a 
hand  took  me  by  the  arm.  and  a  sym- 
pathetic and  badly  scared  voice  asked 
me  if  I  were  hurt. 

I  found  myself  looking  at  a  tall. 
>"iing  man  in  goggles  and  a  leather 
ulster  who  kept  on  blessing  his  soul 
and  whinnying  apologies  For  my- 
self, once  I  got  my  wind  back.  I  was 
rather  glad  than  otherwise. 

This  was  one  way  of  getting  rid 
of  the  car. 


"  My  blame,  sir,"  I  answered  him. 
"  It's  lucky  that  I  did  not  add  homi- 
cide to  my  follies.  That's  the  end  of 
my  Scotch  motor  tour,  but  it  might 
have  been  the  end  of  my  life." 

He  plucked  out  a  watch  and 
studied  it. 

"You're  the  right  sort  of  fellow.*' 
he  said.  "  I  can  spare  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  and  my  house  is  two  minutes 
off.  I'll  see  you  clothed  and  fed  and 
snug  in  bed.  Where's  your  kit,  by 
the  way?  Is  it  in  the  burn  along  with 
the  car?  " 

"  It's  in  my  pocket."  I  said,  brand- 
ishing a  tooth-brush.  "  I'm  a  colonial 
and  travel  light." 

"  A  colonial."  he  cried.  "  By  Gad. 
you're  the  very  man  I've  been  pray- 
ing for.  Are  you  by  any  blessed 
chance  a  Free  Trader?" 

"  I  am,"  said  I.  without  the  fog- 
giest notion  of  what  he  meant. 

He  patted  my  shoulder  and  hurried 
me  into  his  car.  Three  minutes  later 
we  drew  up  before  a  comfortable- 
looking  shooting-box  set  among  pine 
trees,  and  he  ushered  me  tn-rdoOFS. 
He  took  me  first  to  a  bedroom  and 
flung  half  a  dozen  of  his  suits  before 
me,  for  my  own  had  been  pretty  well 
reduced  to  rags. 

I  selected  a  loose  blue  serge,  which 
differed  most  conspicuously  from  my 
own  garments,  and  borrowed  a  linen 
collar. 

Then  he  haled  me  to  the  dining- 
room,  where  the  remnants  pf  a  meal 
stood  on  the  table,  and  announced  that 
I  had  just  five  minutes  to  feed. 
"  You  can  take  a  snack  in  your  pocket, 
and  we'll  have  supper  when  we  get 
back.  I've  got  to  be  at  the  Masonic 
Hall  at  eight  o'clock  or  my  agent  will 
comb  my  hair." 

T  had  a  cup  of  coffee  and  some  cold 
ham.  while  he  yarned  away  on  the 
hearth-rug. 

"  You  find  me  in  the  deuce  of  a 

mess,  Mr.   ;  by  the  by  you  haven't 

told  me  your  name.  Twisden?  Any 
relation  of  old  Tommv  Twisden  of 
the  Sixtieth?   No.    We'll,  you  see  I'm 


618 

Liberal  candidate  tor  this  part  of  the 
world,  and  I  had  a  meeting  on  to- 
night at  Urattleburn— that  s  my  chief 
town,  and  an  internal  Tory  strong- 

« J  had  got  the  Colonial  ex- Pre- 
mier fellow,  Crumpleton.  coming  to 
speak  for  me  to-night,  and  had  the 
thing  tremendously  billed  and  the 
whok  place  ground-baited.  This  af- 
ternoon I  got  a  wire  from  the  ruffian 
saving  he  has  got  influenza  at  I*. lack- 
pool,  and  here"  am  1  left  to  do  the 
whole  thing  myself.  1  had  meant  to 
speak  for  ten  minutes  and  must  now 
go  on  for  forty,  and.  though  I've  l>een 
racking  my  brains  for  three  hours  to 
think  of  something.  I  simply  cannot 
last  the  course.  "  . 

"Now  you've  got  to  he  a  good 
chap  and  help  me.  You're  a  Free 
Trader  and  can  tell  our  people  what 
a  wash-out  Protection  is  in  the  Col- 
onies. All  you  fellows  have  the  gift 
of  the  gat>-^I  wish  to  Heavens  I  had 
it.   I'll  be  for  evermore  in  your  debt." 

I  had  very  few  notions  about  free 
trade  one  way  or  the  other,  but  I  saw 
no  other  chance  to  get  what  I  wanted. 

My  young  gentleman  was  far  too 
absorbed  in"  his  own  difficulties  to 
think  how  odd  it  was  to  ask  a 
stranger  who  had  just  missed  death 
by  an  ace  and  had  lost  a  one-thou- 
sand-guinea car  to  address  a  meeting 
for  him  on  the  spur  of  the  moment. 
But  my  necessities  did  not  allow  me 
to  contemplate  odrlnesses  or  to  pick 
and  choose  mv  supports. 

•  All  right/'  1  said.  u  I'm  not 
much  good  as  a  speaker,  but  I'll  tell 
them  a  fait  about  Australia." 

At  my  words  the  cares  of  the  ages 
slipped  from  his  shoulders  and  he  was 
rapturous  in  his  thanks.  He  lent  me 
a  big  driving  coat — and  never 
troubled  to  ask  why  I  had  started  in 
a  motor  tour  without  possessing  an 
Ulster — and  as  we  shuffled  down  the 
dusty  roads  poured  into  my  ears  the 
simple  facts  of  his  history. 

He  was  an  orphan  and  his  uncle 
had  brought  him  up.    I've  forgotten 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


the  uncle's  name,  but  he  was  in  the 
Cabinet  and  you  can  read  his  speeches 

in  the  papers. 

He  had  gone  round  the  world  after 
leaving  Cambridge,  and  then,  being 
short  of  a  job,  his  uncle  had  advised 
politics.  1  gathered  that  he  had  no 
preference  in  parties.  "  Good  chaps 
in  both,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "  and 
plenty  of  blighters,  too.  I'm  Liberal, 
because  mv  family  have  always  been 
Whigs." 

But  if  he  was  lukewarm  politically 
he  had  strong  views  on  other  things. 
He  found  out  I  knew  a  bit  about 
horses,  and  jawed  away  about  the 
Derby  entries;  and  he  was  full  of 
plans  for  improving  his  shooting. 
Altogether,  a  very  clean,  decent,  cal- 
low young  man. 

As  we  passed  through  a  little  town 
two  policemen  signalled  us  to  stop, 
and  flashed  their  lanterns  on  us. 
"Beg  pardon.  Sir  Harry."  said  one. 
"  We've  got  instructions  to  look  out 
for  a  car  and  the  description's  no  un- 
like yours."' 

"  Right-o."  said  my  host,  while  I 
thanked  Providence  for  the  devious 
ways  I  had  been  brought  to  safety. 

After  that  we  spoke  no  more,  for 
my  host's  mind  began  to  labor  heavily 
with  his  coming  speech.  His  lips 
kept  muttering,  his  eye  wandered,  and 
I  began  to  prepare  myself  for  a 
second  catastrophe.  I  tried  to  think 
of  something  to  say  myself,  but  my 
mind  was  dry  as  a  stone. 

The  next   thing   I   knew   we  had 
drawn  up  outside  a  door  in  a  street 
and  were  being  welcomed    by  some 
"noisy  gentlemen  in  rosettes. 

The  hall  had  about  five  hundred  in 
it.  women  mostly,  a  lot  of  bald  heads, 
and  a  dozen  or  two  young  men. 

The  chairman,  a  weasely  minister 
with  a  reddish  nose,  lamented  Crum- 
pleton's  absence,  soliloquized  on  his 
influenza,  and  gaze  me  a  certificate  as 
a  "  trusted  leader  of  Australian 
thought."  There  were  two  policemen 
at  the  door  and  I  hoped  they  took 
note  of  this  testimonial. 


THE  THIRTY-NINE  STEPS. 


619 


Then  Sir  Harry  started. 

I  never  heard  anything  like  it.  He 
didn't  begin  to  know  how  to  talk.  He 
had  about  a  bushel  of  notes  from 
which  he  read,  and  when  he  let  go 
of  them  he  fell  into  one  prolonged 
stutter. 

Every  now  and  then  he  remem- 
bered a  phrase  he  had  learned  by 
heart,  straightened  his  back,  and  gave 
it  off  like  Henry  Irving,  and  the  next 
moment  he  was  bent  double  and 
crooning  over  his  papers.  It  was  the 
most  appalling  rot,  too. 

He  talked  about  the  "  German 
menace,"  and  said  it  was  all  a  Tory 
invention  to  cheat  the  poor  of  their 
rights  and  keep  back  the  great  flood 
of  social  reform,  but  that  "  organized 
labor  "  realized  this  and  laughed  the 
Tories  to  scorn.  He  was  all  for  re- 
ducing our  navy  as  a  proof  of  our 
good  faith,  and  then  sending  Ger- 
manv  an  ultimatum  demanding  that 
she  should  do  the  same. 

He  said  that  but  for  the  Tories. 
Germany  and  Britain  would  be  fellow 
workers  in  peace  and  reform.  I 
thought  of  the  little  black  book  in  my 
pocket ! 

Yet  in  a  queer  way  I  liked  the 
speech.  You  could  see  the  niceness  of 
the  chap  shining  out  behind  the  non- 
sense with  which  he  had  been  spoon- 
fed. Also  it  took  a  load  off  my  mind. 
I  mightn't  be  much  of  an  orator,  but 
I  was  a  thousand  per  cent  better  than 
Sir  Harry.  I  didn't  get  on  so  badly 
when  it  came  to  my  turn.  I  simply 
told  them  all  I  could  remember  about 
Australia,  praying  there  should  be  no 
Australian  there — all  about  its  labor 
party  and  emigration  and  universal 
sen-ice. 

I  doubt  if  I  remembered  to  mention 
free  trade,  but  I  said  there  were  no 
Tories  in  Australia,  only  Labor  and 
Liberals.  That  fetched  a  cheer,  and 
I  woke  them  up  a  bit  when  I  started 
in  to  tell  them  the  kind  of  glorious 
business  I  thought  could  l>e  made  out 
of  the  Empire  if  we  really  put  our 
backs  into  it. 


Altogether  I  fancy  I  was  rather  a 
success.  The  minister  didn't  like  me 
though,  and  when  he  proposed  a  vote 
of  thanks  spoke  of  Sir  Harry's  speech 
as  "  statesmanlike,"  and  mine  as  hav- 
ing the  "  eloquence  of  an  official  emi- 
gration agent." 

When  we  were  in  the  car  again  my 
host  was  in  wild  spirits  at  having  got 
his  job  over.  "  A  ripping  speech, 
Twisden,"  he  said.  "  Now.  you're 
coming  home  with  me.  I'm  all  alone, 
and  if  you'll  stop  a  day  or  two  I'll 
show  you  some  very  decent  fishing." 

We  had  a  hot  supper — and  I 
wanted  it  pretty  badly — and  then 
drank  grog  in  a  big.  cheery  smoking- 
room  with  a  crackling  wood  fire.  I 
thought  the  time  had  come  for  me  to 
put  my  cards  on  the  table.  I  saw  by 
this  man's  eye  that  he  was  the  kind 
vou  can  trust. 

M  Listen.  Sir  Harry."  I  said.  "  I've 
something  pretty  important  to  say  to 
you.  You're  a  good  fellow  and  I'm 
going  to  be  frank.  Where  on  earth 
did  you  get  that  poisonous  rubbish 
you  talked  to-night?" 

His  face  fell.  "  Was  it  as  bad  as 
that?"  he  asked  ruefully.  "It  did 
sound  rather  thin.  I  got  most  of  it 
out  of  the  Liberal  Magazine  and 
pamphlets  that  agent  chap  of  mine 
keeps  sending  me.  But  you  surely 
don't  think  Germany  would  ever  go 
to  war  with  us  ?  " 

"  Ask  that  question  in  six  weeks 
and  it  won't  need  an  answer,"  I  said. 
"  If  you'll  give  me  your  attention  for 
half  an  hour  I  am  going  to  tell  you 
a  story." 

I  can  see  yet  that  bright  room  with 
the  deers'  heads  and  the  old  prints  on 
the  walls,  Sir  Harry  standing  rest- 
lessly on  the  stone  curb  of  the  hearth, 
and  myself  lying  back  in  an  arm- 
chair speaking.  I  seemed  to  be  an- 
other person,  standing  aside  and  list- 
ening to  my  own  voice,  and  judging 
carefully  the  reliability  of  my  tale. 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  told 
any  one  the  exact  truth,  so  far  as  I 
understood  it.  and  it  did  me  no  end 


620 


ALL- STORY  .WEEKLY. 


of  good,  for  it  straightened  out  the 
thing  in  my  own  mind. 

1  blinked  DO  detail.  He  heard  all 
about  Scodder  and  the  milkman  and 
the  note-book,  and  my  doings  in  Gal- 
loway. Presently  he  got  very  excited 
and  walked  up  and  down  the  heartb- 
urn;. 

"  So  you  see."  I  concluded.  "  you 
have  got  here  in  your  house  the  man 
that  is  wanted  for  the  Portland  Place 
murder.  Your  duty  is  to  semi  your 
car  for  the  police  and  gfiTC  me  up.  I 
don't  think  1*11  get  very  far.  There'll 
be  an  accident  and  I'll  have  a  knife 
in  my  ribs  an  hour  or  so  after  ar- 
rest. Nevertheless  it's  your  duty,  as 
a  law-abiding  citizen.  Perhaps  in  a 
month's  time  you'll  be  sorry,  but  you 
have  no  cause  to  think  of  that." 

He  was  looking  at  me  with  bright, 
steady  eyes.  "  What  was  your  job  in 
Rhodesia,  Mr.  Hannay?  "  he  asked. 

*  Mining  engineer,"  I  said.  "  I've 
made  my  pile  cleanly  and  I've  had  a 
jgood  time  in  the  making  of  it." 

"  Not  a  profession  that  weakens 
the  nerves,  is  it  ?  n 

I  laughed.  "  Oh,  as  to  that,  my 
nerves  are  good  enough."  I  took 
d"\vn  a  hunting  knife  from  a  stand 
on  the  wall,  and  did  the  old  Mashona 
trick  of  tossing  it  and  catching  it  in 
my  lips.  That  wants  a  pretty  steady 
heart. 

He  watched  me  with  a  smile.  "  I 
don't  want  proofs.  I  may  be  an  ass 
on  the  platform,  but  I  can  size  up  a 
man.  You're  no  murderer  and  you're 
no  Cool,  and  I  believe  you  are  speak- 
ing the  truth.  I'm  going  to  back  you 
up    Now,  what  can  I  do?  " 

"  First.  I  want  you  to  write  a  letter 
1«»  your  uncle.  I've  got  to  get  in  touch 
with  the  government  people  some- 
time before  the  15th  of  June." 

He  pulled  his  mustache. 

"  That  won't  help  you.  This  is 
Foreign  Office  business,'  and  mv  uncle 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
Besides  you'd  never  convince  him. 
No,  ril  go  one  better.  I'll  write  to 
the  permanent  secretary  at  the  For- 


eign Office.  He's  my  godfather  and 
one  of  the  best  going.    What  do  you 

want?" 

He  sat  down  at  a  table  and  wrote 
to  my  dictation.  The  gist  of  it  was 
that  if  a  man  called  Twisden  (I 
thought  I  had  better  stick  to  tliat 
name),  turned  up  before  June  15  he 
was  to  treat  him  kindly.  He  said 
Twisden  would  prove  his  bona  fides 
by  passing  the  word  "  Black  Stone " 
and  whistling  "  Annie  Laurie." 

"  Good,"  said  Sir  Harry.  "  That's 
the  proper  style.  By  the  way  you'll 
find  my  godfather — his  name's  Sir 
"Walter  Bullivant — down  at  his  "coun- 
try cottage  for  Whitsuntide.  It's 
close  to  Artinswell-on-the-Kennet. 
That's  done.  Now,  what's  the  next 
thing?" 

"  You're  about  my  height.  -Lend 
me  the  oldest  tweed  suit  you've  got. 
Anything  will  do,  so  long  as  the  color 
is  the  opposite  of  the  clothes  I  de- 
stroyed this  afternoon.  Then  show 
me  a  map  of  the  neighborhood  and 
explain  to  me  the  lie  of  the  land. 
Lastly,  if  the  police  come  asking  about 
me.  just  show  them  the  car  in  the 
glen.  If  the  other  lot  turn  up  tell 
them  T  caught  the  south  express  after 
your  meeting." 

He  did.  or  promised  to  do.  all  these 
things. 

I  shaved  off  the  remnants  of  my 
mustache,  and  got  inside  an  ancient 
suit  of  what  I  believe  is  called  heather 
mixture.  The  map  gave  me  some  no- 
tion of  my  whereabouts  and  told  me 
the  two  things  I  wanted  to  know — 
where  the  main  railway  to  the  south 
could  be  joined  and  what  were  the 
wildest  districts  near  at  hand. 

At  two  o'clock  he  wakened  me 
from  my  slumber  in  the  smoking- 
room  armchair  and  led  me  blinking 
into  the  dark,  starry  night.  An  old 
bicycle  was  found  in  a  tool-shed  and 
handed  over  to  me. 

*  First  turn  to  the  right  up  by  the 
long  fir-wood."  he  enjoined.  "By 
daybreak  you'll  be  well  into  the  hills. 
Then  I  should  pitch  the  machine  into 


THE  THIRTY-NTPsTE  STEPS.  621 


a  bog  and  take  to  the  moors  on  foot. 
You  can  put  in  a  week  among  the 
shepherds,  and  be  as  safe  as  if  you 
were  in  New  Guinea." 

I  pedaled  diligently  up  steep  roads 
of  hill  gravel  till  the  skies  grew  pale 
with  morning.  As  the  mists  cleared 
before  the  sun  I  found  myself  in  a 
wide"  green  world  with  glens  falling 
on  every  side  and  a  faraway  blue 
horizon.  Here  at  any  rate  I  could 
get  early  news  of  my  enemies. 

CHAPTER  V. 
The  Spectacled  Roadman's  Adventure. 

I SAT  down  on  the  very  crest  of  the 
pass  and  took  stock  of  my  position. 
Behind  me  was  the  road  climbing 
through  a  long  cleft  in  the  hills  which 
was  the  upper  glen  of  some  notable 
river.  In  front  was  a  flat  space  of 
maybe  a  mile  all  pitted  with  bog-holes 
and  rough  with  tussocks,  and  then  be- 
yond it  the  road  fell  steeply  down  an- 
other glen  to  a  plain  whose  blue  dim- 
ness melted  into  the  distance. 

To  left  and  right  were  round-shoul- 
dered, green  hills  as  smooth  as  pan- 
cakes; but  to  the  south — that  is  the 
left  hand — there  was  a  glimpse  of  high 
heathery  mountains,  which  I  remem- 
bered from  the  map  as  the  big  knot 
of  hill  which  I  had  chosen  for  my 
sanctuary. 

1  was  on  the  central  boss  of  a  huge 
upland  country,  and  could  see  every- 
thing moving  for  miles.  In  the  mead- 
ows below  the  road,  half  a  mile  back, 
a  cottage  smoked,  but  it  was  the  only 
sign  of  human  life.  Otherwise  there 
was  only  the  calling  of  plovers  and  the 
tinkling  of  little  streams. 

It  was  now  about  seven  o'clock,  and 
as  I  waited  I  heard  once  again  the 
ominous  beat  in  the  air.  Then  I  re- 
alized that  my  vantage  ground  might 
lie  in  reality  a  trap.  There  was  no 
cover  for  a  tomtit  in  those  bald  green 
places. 

T  sat  quite  still  and  hopeless  while 
the  heat  grew  louder. 


Then  I  saw  an  aeroplane  coming  up 
from  the  east.  It  was  flying  high,  but 
as  I  looked  it  dropped  several  hundred 
feet  and  began  to  circle  round  the  knot 
of  hill  in  narrowing  circles,  just  as  a 
hawk  wheels  before  it  pounces.  Now 
it  was  flying  very  low,  and  now  the 
watchman  on  board  caught  sight  of 
me. 

I  could  see  one  of  the  two  occu- 
pants examining  me  through  glasses. 
Suddenly  it  began  to  rise  in  swift 
whorls,  and  the  next  I  knew  it  was 
speeding  eastward  again  till  it  became 
a  speck  in  the  blue  morning. 

That  made  me  do  some  savage  think- 
ing. My  enemies  had  located  me,  and 
the  next  thing  would  be  a  cordon 
round  me.  I  didn't  know  what  force 
they  could  command,  but  I  was  certain 
it  would  be  sufficient.  The  aeroplane 
had  seen  my  bicycle,  and  would  con- 
clude that  I  would  try  to  escape  by  the 
road. 

In  that  case  there  might  be  a  chance 
on  the  moors  to  the  right  or  left.  I 
wheeled  the  machine  a  hundred  yards 
from  the  highway,  and  plunged  it  into 
a  moss-hole  where  it  sank  among  pond- 
weed  and  water-buttercups.  Then  I 
climbed  to  a  knoll  which  gave  me  a 
view  of  the  two  valleys.  Nothing  was 
stirring  on  the  long  white  ribbon  that 
threaded  them. 

I  have  said  there  was  not  cover  in 
the  whole  place  to  hide  a  rat.  As  the 
day  advanced  it  was  flooded  with  soft 
fresh  light  till  it  had  the  fragrant  sun- 
niness  of  the  South  African  veld.  At 
other  times  I  should  have  liked  the 
place,  but  now  it  seemed  to  suffocate 
me.  The  free  moorlands  were  prison 
walls,  and  the  keen  hill-air  was  the 
breath  of  a  dungeon. 

T  tossed  a  coin — heads  right,  tails 
left — and  it  fell  heads,  so  I  turned  to 
the  north.  In  a  little  I  came  to  the 
brow  of  the  ridge  which  was  the  con- 
taining wall  of  the  pass. 

I  saw  the  highroad  for  maybe  ten 
miles,  and  far  down  it  something  that 
was  moving  and  which  I  took  to  be  a 
motor-car.    Beyond  the  ridge  I  looked 


122 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


on  a  rolling  green  moor,  which  fell 
away  into  wooded  glens.  Now  my 
life  on  the  veld  has  given  me  the  eyes 
of  a  kite,  and  I  can  see  things  for 
which  most  men  need  a  telescope. 

Away  down  the  slope,  a  couple  of 
miles  away,  men  were  advancing  like 
a  row  of  beaters  at  a  shoot. 

[  dropped  out  of  sight  behind  the 
Bkyline  That  way  was  shut  to  me, 
and  1  must  try  the  bigger  hills  to  the 
south  beyond  the  highway.  The  car 
I  had  noticed  was  getting  nearer,  but 
it  was  Mill  a  long  road  off,  with  some 
very  steep  gradients  before  it.  I  ran 
hard,  crouching  low  except  in  the  hol- 
lows, and  as  1  ran  I  kept  scanning  the 
brow  of  hill  before  me. 

Was  it  imagination,  or  did  I  see 
figures — one,  two,  perhaps  m. -re- 
moving in  a  glen  beyond  the  stream? 

If  you  are  hemmed  in  on  all  sides 
in  a  patch  of  land — there  is  only  one 
chance  of  escape.  You  must  stay  in 
the  patch,  and  let  your  enemies  search 
it  and  not  find  you.  That  was  good 
sense,  but  how  on  earth  was  I  to  escape 
notice  in  that  table-cloth  of  a  place? 

I  would  have  buried  myself  to  the 
neck  in  mud  and  lain  below  water  or 
climbed  the  tallest  tree.  But  there  was 
not  a  stick  of  wood,  the  bog-holes  were 
little  puddles,  the  stream  was  a  slender 
trickle.  There  was  nothing  but  short 
heather  and  bare  hill  bent  and  the 
white  highway. 

Then  in  a  tiny  bight  of  road,  beside 
a  heap  of  stones.  I  found  the  Road- 
man. 

He  had  just  arrived,  and  was  wear- 
ily flinging  down  his  hammer.  He 
stared  at  me  with  fishy  eyes,  yawning. 

■  Confoond  the  day  I  ever  left  the 
herdin'!  "  he  said  as  if  to  the  world  at 
large.  "  There  I  was  my  ain  maister. 
Now  I'm  a  slave  to  the  government — 
tethered  to  the  roadside,  wi'  sair  een, 
and  a  back  like  a  suckle." 

He  took  up  the  hammer,  struck  a 
stone,  dropped  the  implement  with  an 
oath,  and  put  both  hands  to  his  ears. 
"  Mercy  on  me !  My  heid's  burstin' !  " 
he  cried. 


He  was  a  wild  figure,  about  my  own 
size,  but  much  bent,  with  a  week's 
beard  on  his  chin  and  a  pair  of  big 

horn  spectacles. 

"  I  canna  dae't,"  he  cried  again. 
"  The  surveyor  maun  just  report  me. 
I'm  for  ray  bed." 

I  asked  him  what  was  the  trouble, 
though  indeed  that  was  clear  enough. 

"  The  trouble  is  that  I'm  no  sober. 
Last  nicht  my  dochter,  Merran,  was 
waddit,  and  they  danced  till  fower  in 
the  byre.  Me  and  some  ither  chiels 
sat  down  to  the  drink  in' — and  here  I 
am.  Peety  that  I  ever  loolcit  on  the 
wine  when  it  was  red!  " 

I  agreed  with  him  about  bed. 

"  It's  easy  speakin',"  he  moaned. 
"  But  I  get  a  post-caird  yestereen  say- 
in*  that  the  new  road  surveyor  would 
be  round  the  day.  He'll  come  and 
he'll  no  find  me.  or  else  he'll  find  me 
fou,  and  either  way  I'm  a  done  man. 
I'll  awa  back  to  my  bed  and  say  I'm 
no  weel,  but  I  doot  that'll  no  help  me. 
for  they  ken  my  kind  o'  no-weelness." 

Then  I  had  an  inspiration.  "  Does 
the  new  surveyor  know  you  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No  him.  He's  just  been  a  week 
at  the  job.  He  rins  about  in  a  wee 
motor-car.  and  wad  speir  the  inside  oot 
o'  a  whelk." 

"Where's  your  house?"  I  asked, 
and  was  directed  by  a  wavering  ringer 
to  the  cottage  by  the  stream. 

"Well,  back  to  your  bed."  I  said. 
•  and  sleep  in  peace.  I'll  take  on  your 
job  for  a  bit  and  see  the  surveyor." 

He  stared  at  me  blankly;  then,  as 
the  notion  dawned  on  his  fuddled 
brain,  his  face  broke  into  the  vacant 
drunkard's  smile. 

u  You're  the  billy."  he  cried.  "  It'll 
be  easy  eneuch  managed.  I've  finished 
that  bing  o'  stanes,  so  you  needen  chap 
ony  mair  this  forenoon.  Just  take  the 
barry  and  wheel  eneuch  metal  frae  yon 
quarry  do'on  the  road  to  make  anither 
bing  the  morn. 

"My  name's  Alexander  Trummle, 
and  I've  been  seeven  year  at  the  trade, 
and  twenty  afore  "that  herdin'  on 
Lcithen  Water.    My  freends  ca'  me 


THE  THIRTY-NINE  STEPS. 


623 


Ecky,  and  whiles  Specky,  for  I  wear 
glasses,  bein'  weak  i'  the  sicht.  Just 
you  speak  the  surveyor  fair  and  ca' 
him  sir — and  he'll  be  fell  pleased.  I'll 
be  back  or  midday." 

I  borrowed  his  spectacles  and  filthy 
old  hat;  stripped  off  coat,  waistcoat, 
and  collar  and  gave  him  them  to  carry 
home;  borrowed,  too,  the  foul  stump 
of  a  clay  pipe  as  an  extra  property. 

He  indicated  my  simple  tasks,  and 
without  more  ado  set  off  at  an  amble 
bedward.  Bed  may  have  been  his 
chief  object,  but  I  think  there  was  also 
something  left  in  the  foot  of  a  bottle. 
I  prayed  that  he  might  be  safe  under 
cover  before  my  friends  arrived  on  the 
scene. 

Then  I  set  to  work  to  dress  for  the 
part. 

I  opened  the  collar  of  my  shirt — it 
was  a  vulgar  blue  and  white  check  such 
as  plowmen  wear — and  revealed  a  neck 
as  brown  as  any  tinker's.  I  rolled  up 
my  sleeves  and  there  was  a  forearm 
which  might  have  been  a  blacksmith's 
— sunburnt  and  rough  with  old  scars. 
I  got  my  boots  and  trouser-legs  all 
white  from  the  dust  of  the  road,  and 
hitched  up  my  trousers,  tying  them 
with  string  below  the  knee. 

Then  I  set  to  work  on  my  face. 
With  a  hand ful  of  dust  I  made  a 
water-mark  round  my  neck — the  place 
where  Mr.  Trummle's  Sunday  ablu- 
tions might  be  expected  to  stop.  I 
rubbed  a  good  deal  of  dirt  also  into 
the  sunburn  of  my  checks.  A  road- 
man's eyes  would,  no  doubt,  be  a  little 
inflamed,  so  I  contrived  to  get  some 
dust  in  both  of  mine,  and  by  dint  of 
vigorous  rubbing  produced  a  bleary 
effect. 

The  sandwiches  Sir  Harry  had 
given  me  had  gone  off  with  my  coat; 
but  the  roadman's  lunch,  tied  up  in  a 
red  handkerchief,  was  at  my  disposal. 

1  ate  with  great  relish  several  of  the 
thick  slabs  of  scone  and  cheese  and 
drank  a  little  of  the  cold  tea.  In  the 
handkerchief  was  a  local  paper  tied 
with  string  and  addressed  to  Mr. 
Tnrnbull — obviously  meant  to  solace 


his  midday  leisure.  I  did  up  the  bun- 
dle again,  and  put  the  paper  conspic- 
uously beside  it. 

My  boots  did  not  satisfy  me.  but  by 
dint  of  kicking  among  the  stone  I  re- 
duced them  to  the  granitelike  surface 
which  characterizes  a  roadman's  foot- 
gear. Then  I  bit  and  scraped  my 
finger-nails  till  the  edges  were  all 
cracked  and  uneven.  The  men  I  was 
matched  against  would  miss  no  detail. 

I  broke  one  of  the  bootlaces  and  re- 
tied  it  in  a  clumsy  knot  and  loosed  the 
other  so  that  my  thick  gray  socks 
bulged  over  the  uppers.  Still  no  sign 
of  anything  on  the  road.  The  motor 
I  had  observed  half  an  hour  ago  must 
have  gone  home. 

My  toilet  complete,  I  took  up  the 
barrow  and  began  my  journeys  to  and 
from  the  quarry  a  hundred  yards  off. 
I  remember  an  old  scout  in  Rhodesia 
who  had  done  many  queer  things  in 
his  day — once  telling  me  that  the 
secret  of  playing  a  part  was  to  think 
yoursel  f  into  it.  You  could  never  keep 
it  up.  he  said,  unless  you  could  man- 
age to  convince  yourself  that  you 
were  it. 

So  I  shut  off  all  other  thoughts  and 
switched  them  on  the  road-mending. 

I  thought  of  the  little  white  cottage 
as  my  home,  I  recalled  the  years  I  had 
spent  herding  on  Leithen  Water.  I 
made  my  mind  dwell  lovingly  on  sleep 
in  a  box-bed  and  a  bottle  of  cheap 
whisky.  Still  nothing  appeared  on  that 
long  white  road. 

Now  and  then  a  sheep  wandered  off 
the  heather  to  stare  at  me.  A  heron 
flopped  down  to  a  pool  in  the  stream 
and  started  to  fish,  taking  no  more  no- 
tice of  me  than  if  I  had  been  a  mile- 
stone. On  I  went  trundling  my  loads 
of  stone,  with  the  heavy  step  of  the 
professional. 

Soon  I  grew  warm  and  the  dust  on 
my  face  changed  into  solid  and  abiding 
grit.  I  was  already  counting  the  hours 
till  evening  should  put  a  limit  to  Mr. 
Turnbull's  monotonous  toil. 

Suddenly  a  crisp  voice  spoke  from 
the  road,  and,  looking  up.  I  saw  a  little 


624 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


Ford  two-seater  and  a  round-faced 
young  man  in  a  bowler  hat. 

*'  Are  you  Alexander  Turnbull?  "  he 
asked.  ;*  I  am  the  new  county  road 
surveyor.  You  live  at  Blackhopefoot, 
and  have  charge  of  the  section  from 
Laidlawbyres  to  the  Kiggs?  Good!  A 
fair  bit  of  mad.  Turnbull.  and  not  bad- 
ly engineered  A  little  soft  about  a 
mile  off.  and  the  edges  want  cleaning. 
See  \<  u  look  after  that.  Good  morn- 
ing. You'll  know  me  the  next  time 
you  see  me." 

Clearly  my  get-up  was  good  enough 
for  the  dreaded  surveyor. 

I  went  on  with  my  work,  and  as  the 
nit  Tiling  grew  toward  noon  I  was 
cheered  by  a  little  traffic.  A  baker's 
van  breasted  the  hill  and  sold  me  a  bag 
of  ginger  biscuits,  which  I  stowed  in 
my  trouser  -  pockets  against  emer- 
gencies. Then  a  herd  passed  with 
sheep,  and  disturbed  me  somewhat  by 
asking  loudlv.  "  What  had  become  o' 
Specky?" 

"  In  bed  wi'  the  colic."  I  replied, 
and  the  herd  passed  on. 

Just  about  midday  a  big  car  stole 
down  the  hill,  glided  past  and  drew  up 
a  hundred  yards  beyond.  Its  three  oc- 
cupants descended,  as  if  to  stretch  their 
legs,  and  sauntered  toward  me. 

Two  of  the  men  I  had  seen  before 
from  the  window  of  the  Galloway  Inn 
— one  lean,  sharp  and  dark;  the  other 
comfortable  and  smiling.  The  third 
had  the  look  of  a  countryman — a  vet, 
perhaps,  or  a  small  farmer.  He  was 
dressed  in  ill-cut  knickerbockers,  and 
the  eye  in  his  head  was  as  bright  and 
wary  as  a  hen's. 

"  'Morning."  said  the  last.  u  That's 
a  fine,  easy  job  o'  yours." 

I  had  not  looked  up  on  their  ap- 
proach, and  now,  when  accosted,  I 
slowly  ard  painfully  straightened  my 
back,  after  the  manner  of  roadmen; 
spat  vigorously,  after  the  manner  of 
the  low  Scot,  and  regarded  them  stead- 
ily before  replying.  I  confronted  three 
pairs  of  eyes  that  missed  nothing. 

"  There's  wanr  jobs  and  there's  bet- 
ter." I   .-aid   sententiously.    "  I  wad 


rather  hae  yours,  sittin'  a'  day  on  your 
hinderlands  on  thae  cushions.  It's  you 
and  your  muckle  cawrs  that  wreck  my 
roads!  If  we  a'  had  oor  richts,  you 
Mid  be  made  to  mend  what  ye  break ! " 

The  bright-eyed  man  was  looking  at 
the  newspaper  lying  beside  Turnbull's 
bundle. 

'  I  see  you  get  your  papers  in  good 
time,"  he  said. 

I  glanced  at  it  casually-  14  Aye,  in 
good  time.  Seein'  that  that  paper  cam 
out  last  Setterday,  I'm  just  fower  days 
late." 

lie  picked  it  up.  glanced  at  the  su- 
perscription, and  laid  it  down  again. 
One  of  the  others  had  been  looking  at 
my  boots,  and  a  word  in  German  called 
the  speaker's  attention  to  them. 

"  You've  a  fine  taste  in  boots."  he 
said.  *'  Those  were  never  made  by  a 
country  Av  lemaker." 

•  They  were  not."  I  said  readily. 
"  They  were  made  in  London.  I  got 
them  frae  the  gentleman  that  was  here 
last  year  for  the  shootin'.  What  was 
his  name  now?"  And  I  scratched  a 
forgetful  head. 

Again  the  sleek  one  ^p.^ke  in  Ger- 
man. "  Let  us  get  on,"  he  said.  "  This 
fellow  is  all  right." 

They  asked  one  last  question  : 

"Did  you  see  any  one  pass  early 
this  morning?  He  might  be  on  a 
bicycle  or  he  might  be  on  foot." 

1  very  nearly  fell  into  the  trap,  and 
told  a  story  uf  a  bicyclist  hurrying  past 
in  the  gray  dawn.  But  \  had  the  sense 
to  see  my  danger.  I  pretended  to  con- 
sider very  deeply. 

"  I  wasna  up  very  early."  I  said. 
"  Ye  see  my  dochter  was  merrit  last 
fticht,  and  we  keepit  it  up  late.  I 
opened  the  house-door  about  seeven — 
and  there  was  naebody  on  the  road 
then.  Since  I  cam  up  here  there  has 
been  just  the  baker  and  the  Rnchill 
herd,  besides  you  gentlemen." 

One  of  them  gave  me  a  cigar,  which 
T  smelled  gingerly. and  stuck  in  Turn- 
1  nil's  bundle  They  got  into  their  car 
and  were  out  of  sight  in  three  minutes. 

My  heart  leaped  with  an  enormous 


THE  THIRTY-NINE  STEPS. 


626 


relief,  but  I  went  on  wheeling  my 
stones.  It  was  as  well,  lor  ten  minutes 
later  the  car  returned — one  of  the  oc- 
cupants waving  a  hand  to  me.  These 
gentry  left  nothing  to  chance. 

I  finished  TurnbuH's  bread  and 
cheese,  and  pretty  soon  I  had  finished 
the  stones.  The  next  step  was  what 
puzzled  me. 

I  could  not  keep  up  this  road-ma- 
king business  for  long.  A  merciful 
Providence  had  kept  Mr.  Turnbull  in- 
doors, but  if  he  appeared  on  the  scene 
there  would  be  trouble.  I  had  a  notion 
that  the  cordon  was  still  tight  round 
the  glen,  and  that  if  I  walked  in  any 
direction  I  should  meet  with  ques- 
tioners. 

But  get  out  I  must.  No  man's  nerve 
could  stand  more  than  a  day  of  being 
spied  on. 

I  stayed  at  my  post  till  about  five 
o'clock.  By  that  time  I  had  resolved 
to  go  down  to  Turnbuirs  cottage  at 
nightfall  and  take  my  chance  of  get- 
ting over  the  hills  in  the  darkness.  But 
suddenly  a  new  car  came  up  the  road 
and  slowed  down  to  stop  a  short  dis- 
tance from  me.  A  fresh  wind  had 
risen — and  the  occupant  wanted  to 
light  a  cigarette. 

It  was  a  touring-car,  with  the  ton- 
neau  full  of  an  assortment  of  bag- 
gage. One  man  sat  in  it,  and  by  an 
amazing  chance  I  knew  him.  His  name 
was  Launcelot  Brown,  and  he  was  an 
offense  to  creation.  He  was  a  sort  of 
blood  stockbroker  who  did  his  business 
by  toadying  to  eldest  sons  and  rich 
young  peers  and  foolish  old  ladies. 

"  Lancie  "  was  a  familiar  figure,  I 
understood,  at  balls  and  poh>-weeks 
and  country  houses.  Tie  was  an  adroit 
scandalmonger,  and  would  craw]  a 
mile  on  his  belly  to  anything  that  had 
a  title  or  a  million.  T  had  a  business 
introduction  to  his  firm  when  T  came 
to  London,  and  he  was  good  enough  to 
ask  me  to  dinner  at  his  club. 

There  he  showed  off  at  a  great  rate, 
and  pattered  about  his  duchesses  till 
the  snobbery  of  the  creature  turned  me 
sick.  I  asked  a  man  afterward  why 
4  a-s 


nobody  kicked  him,  and  was  told  that 
Englishmen  reverenced  the  weaker  sex. 

Anyhow,  there  he  was  now,  nattily 
dressed,  in  a  fine  new  car,  obviously 
on  his  way  to  visit  some  of  his  fine 
friends.  A  sudden  daftness  took  me, 
and  in  a  second  I  had  jumped  into  the 
tonneau  and  had  him  by  the  shoulder. 

"Hello,  Brown!"  I  sang  out. 
"  Well  met,  my  lad!  " 

He  got  a  horrid  fright.  His  chin 
dropped  as  he  stared  at  me.  "  Who 
the  devil  are  you  ?  "  he  gasped. 

"  My  name's  Hannay."  I  said, 
"  from  Rhodesia,  you  remember?  M 

"Good  God — the  murderer!"  he 
choked. 

"  Just  so.  And  there'll  be  a  second 
murder,  my  dear,  if  you  don't  do  as  I 
bid  you.  Give  me  that  coat  of  yours. 
That  cap.  too." 

He  did  as  he  was  bid,  for  he  was 
blind  with  terror.  Over  my  dirty 
trousers  and  vulgar  shirt  I  put  on  his 
smart  driving-coat,  which  buttoned 
high  at  the  top,  and  thereby  hid  the 
deficiencies  of  my  collar. 

I  stuck  the  cap  on  my  head,  and 
added  his  gloves  to  my  get-up.  The 
dusty  roadman  in  a  minute  was  trans- 
formed into  one  of  the  neatest  motor- 
ists in  Scotland.  On  Mr.  Launcelot 
Brown's  head  I  clapped  Turnbull's  un- 
speakable hat,  and  told  him  to  keep  it 
there. 

Then  with  some  difficulty  I  turned 
the  car.  My  plan  was  to  go  back  the 
road  he  had  come,  for  the  watchers, 
having  seen  it  before,  would  let  it  pass 
unremarked. 

"  Now,  my  child."  I  said,  "  sit  quite 
still  and  be  a  good  boy.  I  mean  you 
no  harm.  I'm  only  borrowing  your 
car  for  an  hour  or  two.  But  if  you 
play  me  any  tricks — and,  above  all,  if 
you  open  your  mouth — as  sure  as 
there's  a  God  above  me.  I'll  wring 
your  neck !    Saves?  " 

I  enjoyed  that  evening's  ride.  We 
ran  eight  miles  down  the  valley, 
through  a  village  or  two.  and  I  could 
not  help  noticing  several  strange-look- 
ing folk  lounging  by  the  roadside. 


626 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


These  were  the  watchers  who  would 
have  had  much  to  say  to  me  it  I  had 
Come  in  other  garb  or  company.  As 
it  was,  they  looked  incuriously  on. 
One  touched  his  cap  in  salute,  and  I 
responded  graciously. 

As  the  dark  fell  I  turned  up  a  side 
glen  which,  as  I  remembered  from  the 
map,  led  into  an  unfrequented  corner 
of  the  hills.  Soon  the  villages  were 
left  behind,  then  the  farms,  and  then 
even  the  wayside  cottages.  Presently 
we  came  to  a  lonely  moor  where  the 
night  was  blackening  the  sunset  gleam 
in  the  bog  -  pools.  Here  we  stopped, 
and  1  obligingly  reversed  the  car  and 
restored  to  Mr.  Launcelot  Brown  his 
belongings. 

"  A  thousand  thanks."  I  said. 
"  There's  more  use  in  you  than  I 
thought.  Now  be  off  and  find  the 
police.'" 

As  I  »at  on  the  hillside  watching  the 
tail-light  dwindle.  1  reflected  on  the 
various  kinds  of  crime  I  had  now- 
sampled.  Contrary  to  general  belief. 
I  was  not  a  murderer,  but  I  had  be- 
come an  unholy  liar,  a  shameless  im- 
postor, and  a  highwayman  with  a 
marked  taste  for  expensive  motor-cars. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
The   Bald  Archeologist's  Adventure. 

I SPENT  the  night  on  a  shelf  of  the 
hillside,  in  the  lee  of  a  boulder 
where  the  heather  grew  long  and 
soft.  It  was  a  cold  business,  for  I  had 
neither  coat  nor  w  aistcoat.  Those  w  ere 
in  Mr.  Turnbull's  keeping,  as  was 
Scudder's  litile  honk,  my  watch,  and — 
worst  of  all  —  my  pipe  and  tobacco- 
pouch.  Only  my  money  accompanied 
me  in  my  belt,  and  about  half  a  pound 
of  ginger  biscuits  in  my  trouser-pocket. 

I  supped  oft  half  those  biscuits  and 
by  worming  myself  deep  into  the 
heather  get  some  kind  of  w  armth. 

My  spirits  had  ri<en.  and  I  was  be- 
ginning to  enjoy  this  crazv  game  of 
hide  and  seek.  So  far.  f  had  been 
miraculously  lucky.    The  milkman,  the 


literary  innkeeper.  Sir  Harry,  the 
roadman,  and  the  idiotic  Lancie,  were 
all  pieces  of  undeserved  good  fortune. 

Somehow  the  first  success  gave  me 
a  feeling  that  I  was  going  to  pull  the 
thing  through. 

My  chief  trouble  was  that  I  was  des- 
perately hungry.  I  lay  and  tortured 
myself — for  the  ginger  biscuits  merely 
emphasized  the  aching  void — with  the 
memory  of  all  the  good  food  I  had 
thought  so  little  of  in  London.  There 
were  Paddock's  crisp  sausages  and 
fragrant  shavings  of  bacon,  and  shape- 
ly poached  eggs — how  often  I  had 
turned  up  my  nose  at  them! 

There  were  the  cutlets  they  did  at 
the  club,  and  a  particular  ham  that 
stood  on  the  cold  table,  for  which  my 
soul  lusted.  My  thoughts  hovered  over 
all  varieties  of  mortal  edibles,  and 
finally  settled  on  a  porter-house  steak 
and  a  quart  of  bitter  w  ith  a  Welsh  rab- 
bit to  follow.  In  longing  hopelessly 
for  these  dainties  I  fell  asleep. 

I  woke  very  cold  and  stiff  about  an 
hour  after  dawn. 

It  took  me  a  little  while  to  remember 
where  I  was.  for  I  had  been  very 
weary  and  had  slept  heavily.  I  saw 
first  the  pale  blue  sky  through  a  net  of 
heather,  then  a  big  shoulder  of  hill, 
and  then  my  own  boots  placed  neatly 
in  a  blackberry-bush. 

I  raised  myself  on  my  arms  and 
looked  down  into  the  valley,  and  that 
one  look  set  me  lacing  up  my  boots  in 
mad  haste.  For  there  were  men  below, 
not  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off, 
spaced  out  on  the  hillside  like  a  fan. 
and  beating  the  heather.  Lancie  had 
not  been  slow  in  looking  for  his  re- 
venge. 

I  crawled  out  of  my  shelf  into  the 
cover  of  a  boulder,  and  from  it  gained 
a  shallow  trench  which  slanted  up  the 
mountain  face.  This  led  me  presently 
into  the  narrow  gully  of  a  burn,  by 
way  of  which  I  scrambled  to  the  top 
of  the  ridge.  From  there  I  looked 
back  and  sawr  that  I  was  still  undiscov- 
ered. My  pursuers  were  patiently  quar- 
tering the  hillside  and  moving  upward. 


THE  THIRTYrNJNE  STEPS. 


627 


Keeping  behind  the  skyline,  I  ran 
for  maybe  half  a  mile  till  I  judged  I 
was  above  the  uppermost  end  of  the 
glen.  Then  I  showed  myself,  and  was 
instantly  noted  by  one  of  the  flankers 
who  passed  the  word  to  the  others. 

1  heard  cries  coming  up  from  be- 
low, and  saw  that  the  line  of  search 
had  changed  its  direction. 

I  pretended  to  retreat  over  the  sky- 
line, but  instead  went  back  the  way  I 
had  come,  and  in  twenty  minutes  was 
behind  the  ridge  overlooking  my  sleep- 
ing place.  From  that  view-point  I  had 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  pursuit 
streaming  up  the  hill  at  the  top  of  the 
glen  on  a  hopelessly  false  scent. 

I  had  before  me  a  choice  of  routes, 
and  I  chose  a  ridge  which  made  an 
angle  with  the  one  I  was  on,  and  so 
would  soon  put  a  deep  glen  between 
me  and  my  enemies.  The  exercise  had 
warmed  my  blood,  and  I  was  begin- 
ning to  enjoy  myself  amazingly.  As 
I  went  I  breakfasted  on  the  dusty 
remnants  of  the  ginger  biscuits. 

I  knew  very  little  about  the  country, 
and  I  hadn't  a  notion  what  I  was  going 
to  do.  I  trusted  to  the  strength  of  my 
legs,  but  I  knew  well  enough  that  those 
behind  me  would  be  familiar  with  the 
lie  of  the  land,  and  that  my  ignorance 
would  be  a  heavy  handicap. 

-I  saw  in  front  of  me  a  sea  of  hills, 
rising  very  high  toward  the  south,  but 
northward  breaking  down  into  broad 
ridges  which  separated  wide  and  shal- 
low dales.  The  ridge  I  had  chosen 
seemed  to  sink  after  a  mile  or  two  to 
a  moor  which  lay  like  a  pocket  in  the 
uplands. 

That  seemed  as  good  a  direction  to 
take  as  any  other. 

My  stratagem  had  given  me  a  fair 
start — call  it  twenty  minutes — and  I 
had  the  width  of  a  glen  behind  me  be- 
fore I  saw  the  first  heads  of  the  pur- 
suers. The  police  had  evidently  called 
in  local  talent  to  their  air],  and  the  men 
I  could  see  had  the  appearance  of  herds 
or  gamekeepers. 

They  hallooed  at  the  sight  of  me. 
and  I  waved  my  hand.     Two  dived 


into  the  glen  and  began  to  climb  my 
ridge,  while  the  others  kept  their  own 
side  of  the  hill.  I  felt  as  if  I  were 
taking  part  in  a  schoolboy  game  of 
hare  and  hounds. 

But  very  soon  it  began  to  seem  less 
of  a  game.  Those  fellows  behind  were 
hefty  men  on  their  native  heath.  Look- 
ing back  I  saw  that  only  three  were 
following  direct,  and  I  guessed  that 
the  others  had  fetched  a  circuit  to  cut 
me  off. 

My  lack  of  local  knowledge  might 
very  well  be  my  undoing,  and  I  re- 
solved to  get  out  of  this  tangle  of  glens 
to  the  pocket  of  moor  I  had  seen  from 
the  tops.  I  must  so  increase  my  dis- 
tance as  to  get  clear  away  from  them, 
and  I  believed  I  could  do  this  if  I  could 
find  the  right  ground  for  it.  If  there 
had  been  cover  I  would  have  tried  a 
bit  of  stalking,  but  on  these  bare  slopes 
you  could  see  a  fly  a  mile  off. 

My  hope  must  be  in  the  length  of 
my  legs  and  the  soundness  of  my  wind, 
but  I  needed  easier  ground  for  that, 
for  I  was  not  bred  a  mountaineer. 
How  I  longed  for  a  good  Africander 
pony ! 

I  put  on  a  great  spurt  and  got  off 
my  ridge  and  down  into  the  moor  be- 
fore any  figures  appeared  on  the  sky- 
line behind  me.  I  crossed  a  burn  and 
came  out  on  a  high-road  which  made 
a  pass  between  two  glens. 

All  in  front  of  me  was  a  big  field 
of  heather  sloping  up  to  a  crest  which 
was  crowned  with  an  odd  feather  of 
trees. 

In  the  dike  by  the  roadside  was  a 
gate,  from  which  a  grass-grown  track 
led  over  the  first  wave  of  the  moor. 
I  jumped  the  dike  and  followed  it.  and 
after  a  few  hundred  yards — as  soon  as 
it  was  out  of  sight  of  the  highway — 
the  grass  stopped  and  it  became  a  very 
respectable  road  which  was  evidently 
kept  with  some  care. 

Clearly  it  ran  to  a  house,  and  I  be- 
gan to  think  of  doing  the  same.  Hither- 
to my  luck  had  held,  and  it  might  be 
that  my  best  chance  would  be  found  in 
this  remote  dwelling.    Anyhow,  there 


623 


ALL-  STORY  WEEKLY. 


were  trees  there  —  and  that  meant 

cover. 

I  .Jul  not  follow  the  road,  but  the 
bornstde  which  Hanked  it  on  the  right, 
where  the  bracken  grew  deep  and  the 
high  banks  made  a  tolerable  screen.  It 
was  well  1  did  so,  for  no  sooner  had  I 
gained  the  hollow  than,  looking  back. 
I  saw  the  pursuit  topping  the  ridge 
from  which  I  had  descended. 

After  that  I  did  not  look  back — I 
had  no  time.  I  ran  up  the  burnside. 
crawling  over  the  open  places,  and  for 
a  large  part  wading  in  the  shallow 
stream.  I  found  a  deserted  cottage 
with  a  row  of  fantom  peat  stacks  and 
an  overgrown  garden. 

Then  I  was  among  young  hay,  and 
very  soon  had  come  to  the  edge  of  a 
plantation  of  windblown  firs.  From 
there  I  saw  the  chimneys  of  the  house 
smoke  a  few  hundred  yards  to  my  left. 

I  forsook  the  burnside.  crossed  an- 
other dike,  and  almost  before  I  knew 
was  on  a  rough  lawn.  A  glance  back 
told  me  that  I  was  well  out  of  sight  of 
the  pursuit,  which  had  not  yet  passed 
the  first  lift  of  the  moor. 

The  lawn  was  a  very  rough  place, 
cut  with  a  scythe  instead  of  a  mower, 
and  planted  with  beds  of  scrubby  rho- 
dodendrons. A  brace  of  black  game, 
which  are  not  usually  garden  birds, 
rose  at  my  approach.  The  house  be- 
fore me  was  the  ordinary  moorland 
farm,  with  a  more  pretentious  white- 
washed wing  added.  Attached  to  this 
wing  was  a  glass  veranda,  and  through 
the  glass  I  saw  the  face  of  an  elderly 
gentleman  meekly  watching  me. 

I  stalked  over  the  border  of  coarse 
hill  gravel  and  entered  the  open  ve- 
randa door. 

Within  was  a  pleasant  room,  glass 
on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  a  m;i^ 
of  hooks.  More  books  showed  in  an 
inner  room.  On  the  floor,  instead  of 
tables,  stood  cases  such  as  you  see  in 
a  museum,  filled  with  coins 'and  queer 
stone  implements.  There  was  a  knee- 
hole  desk  in  the  middle,  and  seated  at 
it,  with  some  papers  and  open  volumes 
before  him.  was  the  benevolent  old 


gentleman.  His  face  was  round  and 
shiny,  like  Mr.  Pickwick's,  big  glasses 
stuck  on  the  end  of  his  nose,  and  the 
top  of  his  head  was  as  bright  and  bare 
as  a  glass  bottle. 

He  never  moved  when  I  entered,  but 
raised  his  placid  eyebrows  and  waited 
on  me  to  speak. 

It  was  not  an  easy  job,  with  about 
five  minutes  to  spare,  to  tell  a  stranger 
who  I  was  and  what  I  wanted,  and  to 
win  his  aid.  I  did  not  attempt  it. 
There  was  something  about  the  eye  of 
the  man  before  me — something  so 
keen  and  knowledgeable,  that  I  could 
not  find  a  word.  I  simply  stared  at 
him  and  stuttered. 

"  You  seem  in  a  hurry,  my  friend," 
he  said  slowly. 

I  nodded  toward  the  glass.  It  gave 
a  prospect  across  the  moor  through  a 
gap  in  the  plantation,  and  revealed  cer- 
tain figures  half  a  mile  off  straggling 
through  the  heather. 

"  Ah,  I  see,"  he  said,  and  took  up  a 
pair  of  field-glasses,  through  which  he 
patiently  scrutinized  the  figures. 

"  A  fugitive  from  justice,  eh?  Well, 
we'll  go  into  the  matter  at  our  leisure. 
Meantime,  I  object  to  my  privacy 
being  broken  in  upon  by  the  clumsy 
rural  policemen.  Go  into  my  study 
and  you  will  see  two  doors  facing 
you.  Take  the  one  on  the  left  and 
close  it  behind  you.  You  will  be  per- 
fectly safe." 

And  this  extraordinary  man  took  up 
his  pen  again. 

I  did  as  I  was  bid.  and  found  my- 
self in  a  little  dark  chamber  which 
smelled  of  chemicals  and  was  lit  only 
by  a  tiny  window  high  up  in  the  wall. 
The  door  had  swung  behind  me  with 
a  click  like  the  door  of  a  safe.  Once 
again  I  had  found  an  unexpected 
sanctuary. 

All  the  same  I  was  not  comfortable. 
There  was  something  about  the  old 
gentleman  which  puzzled  and  rather 
terrified  me.  He  had  been  too  easy 
and  ready,  almost  as  if  he  had  ex- 
pected me.  And  his  eyes  had  been 
horribly  intelligent. 


THE  THIRTY-NINE  STEPS. 


620 


No  sound  came  to  me  in  that  dark 
place. 

For  all  I  knew  the  police  might  be 
searching  the  house,  and  if  they  did, 
they  would  want  to  know  what  was 
behind  this  door.  I  tried  to  possess  my 
soul  in  patience  and  to  forget  how 
hungry  I  was.  Then  I  took  a  more 
cheerful  view. 

The  old  gentleman  could  scarcely  re- 
fuse me  a  meal,  and  I  fell  to  recon- 
structing my  breakfast.  Bacon  and 
eggs  would  content  me,  but  I  wanted 
the  better  part  of  a  flitch  of  bacon  and 
half  a  hundred  eggs.  And  then,  while 
my  mouth  was  watering  in  anticipa- 
tion, there  was  a  click  and  the  door 
stood  open. 

I  emerged  into  the  sunlight  to  find 
the  master  of  the  house  sitting  in  a 
deep  armchair  in  the  room  he  called  his 
study,  and  regarding  me  with  curious 
eyes. 

"  Have  they  gone?  "  I  asked. 

w  They  have  gone.  I  convinced 
them  that  you  had  crossed  the  hill.  I 
do  not  choose  that  the  police  should 
come  between  me  and  one  whom  I  am 
delighted  to  honor.  This  is  a  lucky 
morning  for  you,  Richard  Hannay." 

As  he  spoke  his  eyelids  seemed  to 
tremble  and  to  fall  a  little  over  his 
keen  gray  eyes.  In  a  flash  the  phrase 
of  Scudder's  came  back  to  mc  when 
he  had  described  the  man  he  most 
dreaded  in  the  world.  He  had  said 
that  he  "  could  hood  his  eves  like  a 
hawk." 

Then  I  saw  that  I  had  walked 
straight  into  the  enemy's  headquarters. 
My  first  impulse  was  to  throttle  the  old 
ruffian  and  make  for  the  open  air.  He 
>c<jmed  to  anticipate  my  intention,  for 
he  smiled  gently  and  nodded  to  the 
door  behind  me.  I  turned  and  saw  two 
men  servants  who  had  me  covered  with 
pistols. 

He  knew  my  name,  but  he  had  never 
seen  me  before.  And  as  the  reflection 
darted  across  my  mind,  I  saw  a  slender 
rhance. 

"  f  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  I 
said  roughly.    "  And  who  are  you  call- 


ing Richard  Hannay?  My  name's 
Ainslie." 

"  So?  "  he  said,  still  smiling.  "  But, 
of  course,  you  have  others.  We  won't 
quarrel  about  a  name." 

I  was  pulling  myself  together  now, 
and  I  reflected  that  my  garb,  lacking 
coat  and  waistcoat  and  collar,  would, 
at  any  rate,  not  betray  me.  I  put  on 
my  surliest  face  and  shrugged  my 
shoulders. 

"  I  suppose  you're  going  to  give  me 
up,  after  all.  and  I  call  it  a  dirty  trick. 
I  wish  I  had  never  seen  that  cursed 
motor-car!  Here's  the  money  and  be 
damned  to  you!"  And  I  flung  four 
sovereigns  on  the  table. 

He  opened  his  eyes  a  little.  M  Oh, 
no,  I  shall  not  give  you  up.  My  friends 
and  I  will  have  a  little  private  settle- 
ment with  you.  that  is  all.  You  know 
a  little  too  much,  Mr.  Hannay.  You 
are  a  clever  actor,  but  not  quite  clever 
enough." 

He  spoke  with  assurance,  but  1  could 
see  the  dawning  of  some  doubt  in  his 
mind. 

*' For  God's  sake  stop  jawing!"  I 
cried.  "  Everything's  against  me.  I 
haven't  had  a  bit  of  luck  since  I  came 
on  shore  at  Leith.  What's  the  harm 
in  a  poor  devil  with  an  empty  stomach 
picking  up  some  money  he  finds  in  a 
bust-up  motor-car?  That's  all  I  done, 
and  for  that  I've  been  chivvied  for 
two  days  by  those  blasted  bobbies  over 
those  blasted  hills.  I  tell  you.  I'm  fair 
sick  of  it.  You  can  do  what  you  like, 
old  boy !  Xed  Ainslie's  got  no  fight 
left  in  him." 

I  could  see  that  the  doubt  was  gain- 
ing. 

"  Will  you  oblige  me  with  the  story 
of  your  recent  doings?"  he  asked. 

"  I  can't,  guv'nor."  I  said  in  a  real 
beggar's  whine.  "  I've  not  had  a  bite 
to  eat  for  two  days.  Give  me  a  mouth- 
ful of  food,  and  then  vou'll  hear  God's 
truth !  " 

I  must  have  showed  my  hunger  in 
my  face,  for  he  signaled  to  one  of  the 
men  in  the  doorway.  A  bit  of  cold  pie 
was  brought  and  a  glass  of  beer,  and 


630 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


I  wolfed  them  down  like  a  pig  —  or 
rather  like  Ned  Ainslie,  for  I  was 
keeping  up  rny  character. 

In  the  middle  of  my  meal  he  spoke 
Suddenly  to  me  in  German,  but  I 
turned  on  him  a  face  as  blank  as  a 

stone  wall. 

Then  I  told  him  my  story— how  1 
had  erne  off  an  Archangel  ship  at 
Leith  a  week  ago.  and  was  making  my 
way  overland  to  my  brother  at  W'igton. 
I  had  run  short  of  cash— I  hinted 
vaguely  at  a  spree — and  I  was  pretty 
well  an  my  upper>  when  I  had  come 
on  a  hole,  in  a  hedge,  and,  looking 
through,  had  seen  a  big  motor-car 
lying  in  the  burn. 

I  had  poked  about  to  see  what  had 
happened,  and  had  found  three  sov- 
ereigns lying  on  the  scat  and  one  on  the 
floor.  There  was  nobody  there,  or  any 
sign  of  an  owner,  so  I  had  pocketed 
the  cash.  But  somehow  the  law-  had 
got  after  me.  When  I  had  tried  to 
change  a  sovereign  in  a  bakers  shop 
the  woman  had  cried  on  the  police,  and 
a  little  later,  when  I  was  washing  my 
face  in  a  burn.  I  had  been  nearly 
gripped,  and  had  only  got  away  by 
leaving  my  coat  and  waistcoat  behind 
me. 

"  They  can  have  the  money  back,'' 
I  cried,  "  for  a  fat  lot  of  good  it's 
d"ne  me.  Those  perishers  are  all 
d<  \vn  on  a  poor  man.  Now.  if  it  had 
been  you,  guv'nor,  that  had  found  the 
quids,  nobody  would  have  troubled 
you." 

"  You're  a  good  liar.  Hannay."  he 

Said, 

I  flew  into  a  rage.  "  Stop  fooling. 
I  tell  you  my  name's  Ainslie.  and  I 
never  heard  of  any  one  called  Hannay 
in  my  born  days !  I'd  sooner  have  the 
police  than  you  with  your  Hannay s 
ami  your  monkey-faced  pistol  tricks! 
No.  guv'nor,  I  don't  mean  that.  I'm 
much  obliged  to  you  for  the  grub.  I'll 
thank  you  to  let  me  go  now — the 
coast's  clear."  • 

It  was  evident  he  was  badly  puzzled. 
iYou  see  he  had  never  seen  me,  and  my 
appearance  must  have  altered  consid- 


erably from  ray  photographs  —  if  he 
had  got  one  of  them.  I  was  pretty 
smart  and  well  dressed  in  London,  and 
now  I  was  a  regular  tramp. 

"  I  do  not  propose  to  let  you  go.  If 
you  arc  what  you  say  you  are,  you  will 
soon  have  a  chance  of  clearing  your- 
self. If  you  are  what  I  believe  you 
are.  I  do  not  think  you  will  see  the 
light  much  longer." 

He  rang  a  bell  and  a  third  servant 
appeared  from  the  veranda. 

"  I  want  the  Lanchester  in  five  min- 
utes," he  said.  11  There  will  be  three 
to  luncheon." 

Then  he  looked  steadily  at  me,  and 
that  was  the  hardest  ordeal  of  all. 
There  was  something  weird  and  devil- 
ish in  those  eyes — cold,  malignant,  un- 
earthly, and  most  hellishly  clever. 
They  fascinated  me  like  the  bright  eyes 
of  a  snake. 

I  had  a  strong  impulse  to  throw  my- 
self on  his  mercy  and  offer  to  join  his 
side,  and  if  you  consider  the  way  I  felt 
about  the  whole  thing  you  will  see  that 
that  impulse  must  have  been  purely 
physical — the  weakness  of  a  brain  mes- 
merized and  mastered  by  a  stronger 
spirit. 

But  I  managed  to  stick  it  out — and 
even  to  grin.  M  You'll  know  me  next 
time,  guv'nor."  I  said. 

"  Karl !  "  he  said  in  German  to  one 
of  the  men  in  the  doorway.  *  You 
will  put  this  fellow  in  the  store-room 
lill  I  return,  and  you  will  be  answera- 
ble to  me  for  his  keeping." 

I  was  marched  out  of  the  room  with 
a  pistol  at  each  ear. 

The  storeroom  was  a  damp  cham- 
ber in  what  had  been  the  old  farm- 
house. There  was  no  carpet  on  the 
uneven  floor  and  nothing  to  sit  down 
on  but  a  school  form.  It  was  black  as 
pitch,  for  the  windows  were  heavily 
shuttered. 

I  made  out  by  groping  that  the  walls 
were  lined  with  boxes  and  barrels  and 
sacks  of  some  heavy  stuff.  The  whole 
place  smelled  of  mold  and  disuse.  My 
jailers  turned  the  key  in  the  door,  and 


THE  THIRTY-NINE  STEPS. 


631 


I  could  hear  them  shifting  their  feet 
as  they  stood  on  guard  outside. 

I  sat  down  in  the  chilly  darkness  in 
a  very  miserable  frame  of  mind.  The 
old  boy  had  gone  off  in  a  motor  to 
collect  the  two  ruffians  who  had  inter- 
viewed me  yesterday.  Now,  they  had 
seen  me  as  the  roadman,  and  they 
would  remember  me,  for  I  was  in  the 
same  rig. 

What  was  a  roadman  doing  twenty 
miles  from  his  beat,  pursued  by  the 
police?  A  question  or  two  would  put 
them  in  the  track.  Probably  they  had 
seen  the  real  Turnbull,  probably 
Lancie  too;  most  likely  they  could 
link  me  up  with  Sir  Harry,  and  then 
the  whole  thing  would  be  crystal 
clear. 

What  chance  had  I  in  this  moor- 
land house  with  three  desperadoes  and 
their  armed  servants?  I  began  to 
think  wistfully  of  the  police,  now 
plodding  over  the  hills  after  my 
wraith.  They  at  any  rate  were  fel- 
low countrymen  and  honest  men,  and 
their  tender  mercies  would  be  kinder 
than  these  ghoulish  aliens. 

But  they  wouldn't  have  listened  to 
me.  That  old  devil  with  his  eyelids 
had  not  taken  long  to  get  rid  of  them. 
I  thought  he  probably  had  some  kind 
oi  graft  with  the  constabulary.  Most 
likely  he  had  letters  from  Cabinet 
Ministers  saying  he  was  to  be  given 
every  facility  for  plotting  against 
Britain. 

That's  the  sort  of  owlish  way  we 
run  our  politics  in  the  old  country. 

The  three  would  be  back  for  lunch. 
80  I  hadn't  more  than  a  couple  of 
hours  to  wait.  It  was  simply  waiting 
or  destruction,  for  I  could  see  no  way 
out  of  this  mess.  I  wished  that  I  had 
Scudder's  courage,  for  I  am  free  to 
confess  I  didn't  feel  great  fortitude. 

The  only  thing  that  kept  me  going 
was  that  I  was  pretty  furious.  It 
made  me  boil  with  rage  to  think  of 
those  three  spies  getting  the  pull  on 
me  like  this.  T  hoped  that  at  any  rate 
1  might  be  able  to  twist  one  of  their 
necks  before  they  downed  me. 


The  more  I  thought  of  it  the  angrier 
I  grew,  and  I  had  to  get  up  and  move 
about  the  room.  I  tried  the  shutters 
but  they  were  the  kind  that  lock  with 
a  key  and  I  couldn't  move  them. 

From  the  outside  came  the  faint 
clucking  of  hens  in  the  warm  sun. 
Then  I  groped  among  the  sacks  and 
boxes.  I  couldn't  open  the  latter,  and 
the  sacks  seemed  to  be  full  of  things 
like  dog-biscuits  that  smelled  of  cinna- 
mon. But  as  I  circumnavigated  the 
room  I  found  a  handle  in  the  wall 
which  seemed  worth  investigating. 

It  was  the  door  of  a  wall  cupboard 
— what  they  call  a  "  press  "  in  Scot- 
land— and  it  was  locked. 

I  shook  it  and  it  seemed  rather 
flimsy.  For  want  of  something  bet- 
ter to  do  I  put  out  my  strength  on 
that  door,  getting  some  purchase  on 
the  handle  by  looping  my  braces 
round  it.  Presently  the  thing  gave 
with  a  crash  which  I  thought  would 
bring  in  my  warders  to  inquire. 

I  waited  for  a  bit  and  then  started 
to  explore  the  cupboard  shelves. 

There  was  a  multitude  of  queer 
things  there.  I  found  an  odd  vesta 
in  my  trouser  pocket  and  struck  a 
light.  It  went  out  in  a  second,  but 
it  showed  me  one  thing.  There  was 
a  little  stock  of  electric  torches  on 
one  shelf.  I  picked  up  one  and  found 
it  was  in  working  order. 

With  the  torch  to  help  me  I  inves- 
tigated further.  There  were  bottles 
and  cases  of  queer  smelling  stuffs, 
chemicals  no  doubt  for  experiments, 
and  there  were  coils  of  fine  copper 
wire  and  hanks  and  hanks  of  a  thin 
oiled  silk. 

Then  away  at  the  back  of  a  shelf 
I  found  a  stout  brown  cardboard  box, 
and  inside  it  a  wooden  case.  I  man- 
aged to  wrench  it  open,  and  within 
lay  half  a  dozen  little  gray  bricks, 
each  about  a  couple  of  inches  square. 

I  look  up  one  and  found  that  it 
crumbled  easily  in  my  hand.  Then  I 
smelled  it  and  put  my  tongue  to  it. 
After  that  I  sat  down  to  think.  I 
hadn't    been  a  mining   engineer  for 


632 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


nothing,  and  I  knew  lentonite  when 

I  saw  it.  '  ■  ■»  •     t  '  ii 

With  one  of  these  bricks  1  could 
blow  the  house  to  smithereens.  I  had 
used  the  stuff  in  Rhodesia  and  knew 
its  power.  Hut  the  trouble  was  that 
my  knowledge  wasn't  exact. 

I  had  forgotten  the  proper  charge 
and  the  right  way  0*  firing  it.  or 
rather  I  knew  that  it  needed  an  elec- 
tric spark,  but  I  wasn't  sure  about  the 
tuning.  I  had  only  a  vague  notion 
to  add  to  its  power.  for  though  L  had 
used  it  I  had  not  handled  it  with  my 
own  fingers. 

But  it  was  a  chance,  the  only  pos- 
sible chance. 

It  was  a  mighty  risk,  but  again 
it  was  an  absolute  black  certainty.  El 
I  used  it  the  odds  were,  as  1  reckoned, 
about  five  to  one  in  favor  of  my  blow- 
ing myself  into  the  treetops;  but  if  I 
didn't  I  should  very  likely  be  occupy- 
ing a  six-foot  hole  in  the  garden  by 
the  evening. 

That  was  the  way  I  had  to  look  at 
it.  The  prospect  was  pretty  dark 
either  way.  but  anyhow  there  was  a 
chance,  both  for  myself  and  for  my 
country. 

The  remembrance  of  little  Scudder 
decided  me.  It  was  about  the  beast- 
liest moment  of  my  life,  for  I'm  no 
good  at  these  cold-blooded  resolu- 
tions. Still  I  managed  to  rake  up  the 
pluck  to  set  my  teeth  and  choke  back 


the    horrid  doubts  that  flooded  in 

on  me. 

I  simply  shut  off  my  mind  and  pre- 
tended I  was  doing  an  experiment  as 
simple  as  Guy  Fawkes's  fireworks. 

I  pulled  a  couple  of  the  electric 
torches  to  pieces,  and  with  their  small 
batteries  and  coils  of  wire  constructed 
an  elementary  fuse.  Then  I  took  a 
quarter  of  a  lentonite  brick,  and 
buried  it  near  the  door,  below  one  of 
the  sacks,  in  a  crack  of  the  floor,  link- 
ing up  my  fuse  to  it.  For  all  I  knew 
half  those  boxes  might  lie  dynamite. 

If  the  cupboard  held  such  deadly 
explosives,  why  not  the  boxes? 

In  that  case  there  would  be  a  glor- 
ious skyward  journey  for  me  and  the 
German  servant,  and  about  an  acre  or 
two  of  the  surrounding  country. 
There  was  also  the  risk  that  the  de- 
tonation might  set  off  the  other  bricks 
in  the  cupboard,  for  I  had  forgotten 
most  that  I  knew  about  lentonite. 

But  it  didn't  do  to  begin  thinking 
about  the  possibilities.  The  odds 
were  horrible,  but  I  had  to  take  them. 

I  ensconced  myself  just  below  the 
sill  of  the  window.  Then  I  waited 
for  a  moment  or  two.  There  was 
dead  silence — only  a  shuffle  of  heavy 
boots  in  the  passage,  and  the  peaceful 
cluck  of  hens  from  the  warm  out-of- 
doors. 

I  commended  my  soul  to  my  Maker 
and  touched  off  the  fuse. 


TO  BE  CONCLUDED  NEXT  WEEK.     Don't  forget  thi.  magazine  ja  ...ued  weekly,  and  that 
you  will  get  the  conclusion  of  this  story  without  waiting  a  month. 


DUSKY  EYES 

BY    H .   S.  HASKINS 

RETOUCHING  was  an  art  once  used 
Exclusively  on  pictures. 
But  women  have  preempted  it 
To  touch  up  facial  fixtures, 
Until  their  lashes,  'pon  my  soul, 
Look  just  as  if  they'd  shoveled  coal. 


i\i\e 

I  HE  little  man  in  the  checked 
cap  was  poring  over  the  pas- 
senger list,  commenting  half 
audibly  on  each  name  as  he 
pointed  to  it. 

"  Mrs.  and  Miss  James — 
no,  she's  traveling  alone. 
Mrs.  James  Rinehart — I  don't  think 
she's  married.  Miss  Edith  Payne,  no, 
that's  a  thin  woman's  name.  Astrid 
Klumpff — she's  not  a  foreigner.  Miss 
Mayme  Cole;  that  might  be  her.  Mrs. 
Ethel  Stevens;  maybe  she  is  a  widow. 
Miss  Lolita  Walsh — that's  her!  The 
name  just  suits  her,  all  soft  and  full 
of  curves." 

He  gave  the  purser  a  really  good 
cigar.  "  Say,  do  you  know  the  name 
of  the  blond  young  lady  who  sits  third 
from  the  end  on  the  left  at  the  first 
officer's  table?  " 
"The  fat  girl?" 

**  No.  I  wouldn't  call  her  fat.  She's 
just  a  little  plump." 

"  Guess  we're  not  talking  about  the 
same  one.  T  mean  the  whale  of  a 
blonde  that  wore  the  Roman  stripe 
dress  last  night.  You  couldn't  forget 
her  after  you  once  saw  her." 

The  little  man  drew  closer.  "  That's 
the  one!  T'm  like  you;  I  just  couldn't 
forget  her !  " 

The  purser  rubbed  his  chin.  "  She's 
a  _  good  looker  all  right.  Wait  a 
minute  till  I  look  .her  up  on  the  list. 
Here  she  is,  Walsh.  Miss  Lolita 
Walsh,  going  to  Manila." 

633 


Ceorteroiv 


The  little  man's  thin  face  broke 
into  a  wrinkling  smile.  "  That's  just 
the  name  I'd  picked  out  for  her  from 
the  whole  list!"  he  said  excitedly. 

The  purser's  eves  twinkled  a  bit. 
"  Why?"  he  asked. 

"  It  sounds  just  the  way  she  looks, 
you  know.  There  would  have  to  be 
an  "  1  "  in  her  name  somewhere.  She 
might  be  Lois,  or  Lulu,  or  Clara,  or 
Louise,  or  Alice,  but  she  could  never 
be  Jane  or  Frances  or  Hester  or 
Edith."  He  paused.  "  My  first  wife's 
name  was  Edith." 

The  purser  eyed  his  retreating  back 
with  knowing  amusement. 

"  I've  got  your  number,  skinny,"  he 
thought.  "  You're  a  six-months'  wid- 
ower looking  for  a  change." 

The  little  man  stalked  his  quarry 
from  the  saloon  to  the  promenade 
deck,  from  the  promenade  deck  to  the 
hurricane  deck  without  once  seeing 
her. 

She  could  not  be  ill  on  that  smooth 
sea,  so  by  natural  inference,  he  knew 
she  must  be  on  deck,  and  he  stared 
with  painstaking  care  at  every  oc- 
cupied deck  chair. 

At  length,  passing  a  row  of  chairs 
whose  occupants  were  swathed  in 
sleep  and  blankets  beyond  recognition, 
he  turned  to  watch  a  school  of  por- 
poises. A  misstep  tangled  his  feet  in 
a  blanket,  and  'he  fell  prone  upon  the 
sleepers. 

In  his  wild  struggles  to  right  him- 


634 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


self,  he  fell  between  two  deck-chairs, 
with  his  small,  neat  feet  waving  in 
the  air  where  his  head   should  have 

been  ,    . ,. 

"Goodness!      What    was  that? 

came  shrilly  from  his  jailer  on  the 

left.    "  1  believe  we  are  on  the  rocks." 

A  throatv  contralto  chuckled  from 
his  jailer  on  the  right  thrilled  him. 
"  Xo,  only  a  man  thtumbled.  I  gueth. 
Here  are'hith  feet.  Hith  head  mutht 
be  under  your  chair.  Jutht  thtand  up 
a  minute,  can't  you?" 

••  Mv  word!"  said  the  sharp-voiced 
*  ne.  jumping  up  hastily. 

A  soft,  plump  white  hand,  clutch- 
ing the  prisoner,  lifted  him  to  his  feet. 
He  stood  crimson  and  speechless  be- 
fore the  object  of  his  search. 

The  longer  she  looked  at  him  the 
harder  she  laughed,  mellow,  deep- 
chested  chuckles  that  shook  her  fat 
ripplragly.  He  had  ample  chance  to 
notice  her  round,  blue  eyes,  her  apple- 
blossom  complexion,  the  light  aura  of 
her  hair,  her  chin,  or  more  exactly, 
chins,  tipped  with  rose,  before  she 
could  control  herself. 

"  I'm  thorrv  I'm  tho  rude."  she 
lisped,  u  but  I'm  not  uthed  to  being 
arouthed  in  jutht  that  way." 

He  marveled  at  the  music  of  a  lisp 
issuing  from  red,  satiny  lips.  Strange 
that  he  had  never  noticed  before  how 
it  enhanced  the  simplest  phrase — a 
lisp  so  slight  that  any  attempt  to  set 
it  down  in  print  must  grossly  exag- 
gerate it. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,"  he  stammered. 
"  Mv  foot  must  have  caught." 

"  Are  you  hurt?" 

"  No,  thanks,  only  shaken  up  a  bit." 

The  other  lady,  having  received  his 
apologies  in  acid  silence,  retired  to  her 
stateroom;  and  the  little  man  looked 
f|uestioningly  at  her  chair.  "  May 
I  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh  yeth.  do.  Tf  you  don't  mind 
my  telling  you.  your  cravat  theemth 
to  he  ecthited  and  trying  to  run  away, 
and  your  hair  ncedth  thmoothing 
down." 

"  Is  that  better.  Miss  Walsh?  "  he 


asked  boldly,  after  repairing  the  rav- 
ages of  his  spill. 

Her  round  eyes  became  still 
rounder,  a  thing  which  he  would  have 
declared  impossible.  "  How  did  you 
know  my  name?  "  she  asked. 

M  A  little  bird  told  me,"  he  said 
playfully. 

"  Mutht  have  been  a  thea-gull,"  she 
lisped.  "  Cothipping  bird!  If  you 
meet  him  again  tell  him  to  come 
around  and  tell  me  yourth." 

"4  I'll  save  him  the  trouble,"  re- 
torted the  little  man,  intoxicated  by 
his  own  repartee. 

*•  Mv  name  is  Sloan,  Alfred  Sloan, 
Of  Denver." 

"I  knew  thome  people  from  Den- 
ver when  I  was  a  child.  Their  name 
was  Thteele."  she  said.  "  Did  you 
know  them?  There  were  two  daugh- 
terth." 

"  Yes — oh,  yes."  answered  Mr. 
Sloan,  reddening  unaccountably. 

"  May  married  a  man  from  Port- 
land— a  very  good  match.  Edith,  the 
older  one — let  me  think.  It  theemth 
to  me  she  married  thome  one  that 
didn't  amount  to  much,  didn't  she?" 

Mr.  Sloan's  face  looked  like  a 
radish  of  rosy  hue.  M  Well — I  don't 
know.    She  married  me !  " 

Utter  consternation  seized  Miss 
Walsh.  "  Oh.  oh—"  she  gasped.  "  I 
mutht  have  mixed  her  up  with  thome- 
body  clth." 

"  No,  I  guess  not."  said  Mr.  Sloan, 
humbly.  "  I  never  did  amount  to  an 
awful  lot.  and  Edith  had  slim  pick- 
ings until  mv  uncle  died  and  left  me 
his  money  a  year  ago — Edith  died  last 
January." 

"  Well,  T  know  you  were  alwayth 
kind  and  gentle  with  her,  anyway. 
Jutht  making  money  ithn't  the  only 
thing  in  the  world."  she  consoled. 

That  night,  through  the  good  offices 
of  the  purser,  who  was  a  kindly 
youth,  his  seat  was  changed  to  the 
first  officer's  table,  fourth  from  the 
end.  on  the  left  side. 

The  fair  Lolita's  plump  shoulders 
towered    above  him  like  chalk  cliffs, 


VENUS  BY  THE  POUND. 


635 


over  which  her  smiling  face  beamed 
like  a  benevolent  moon.  She  was  en- 
grossed in  the  carte  d'jour. 

11 1  think  I'll  have  pea  puree, 
creamed  thweetbread,  thmothered 
chicken,  athparaguth.  candied  thweet- 
potatoeth.  and  thtring  beanth,"  she 
said  to  the  waiter. 

'*  I'll  give  the  retht  of  the  order 
later.  Oh,  I  want  potatoeth  thouffle. 
too.  Don't  you  love  potatoeth  thouf- 
fle, Mr.  Thloan?" 

Mr.  Sloan,  who  had  contemplated  a 
lettuce  salad  and  a  mutton-chop  with 
zwieback,  as  became  a  man  of  uncer- 
tain digestion,  gallantly  decided  to 
duplicate  the  lady's  order. 

"  I'll  take  thome,  too,"  he  said,  in- 
fected with  lisping.  Then  he  blushed 
furiously.  "  I  mean  I'll  take  some 
stew,"  he  corrected.  There  was  an 
audible  titter.  "  No.  I  mean  bring  me 
the  same  as  the  lady  ordered." 

Lolita  radiated  cheering  warmth 
like  a  base-burner  stove.  Under  her 
cheering  influence  Mr.  Sloan,  who  was 
a  bashful  soul,  expanded  into  jest  and 
even  querulous  autobiography.  At  the 
end  of  two  days  Lolita  was  familiar 
with  his  frail,  bullied  boyhood,  his 
stormy  days  with  the  ambitious  Edith, 
whom  his  meek  futility  exasperated 
into  a  virago,  and  his  economic  failure 
until  his  uncle's  legacy  relieved  him. 
He  was  on  his  way  around  the  world, 
it  seemed. 

Lolita  offered  no  confidences  in  re- 
turn; but  he  noticed  that  in  pensive 
moments  her  broad,  white  brow  drew 
into  unaccustomed  knots,  her  blue  eyes 
clouded,  and  all  her  chins  quivered 
pitifully. 

Tt  was  more  than  his  sympathetic 
soul  could  bear;  he  besought  her  to 
confide  in  him. 

She  sighed  mightily.  "  You  would 
not  underthtand  if  I  did  tell  you,"  she 
replied.  "  No  nian  would."  But  later 
in  the  day  she  beckoned  him  myste- 
riously into  a  secluded  corner  of  the 
saloon. 

"  Jutht  look  at  thith,"  she  whispered 
dramatically,  handing  forth  a  photo- 


graph of  a  very  pretty  girl.  "  Do  you 
know  who  it  is  ?  " 

Its  haunting  familiarity  bewildered 
him.    "  No.  I  don't." 

"  Look  at  it  clothely.  Ithn't  it  like 
thome  one  you  know  ?  " 

"  It  does  look  like  some  one,  but  I 
can't  think  who."  He  looked  up  at 
her  hazily.  "  Sav,  it  isn't  vour  sister, 
is  it?" 

She  dropped  limply  into  a  chair. 
"Oh.  ithn't  it  dreadful?"  she  be- 
moaned. "  But  funny,  too.  I  could 
die  laughing  over  it." 

And  the  astounding  girl  giggled 
while  Mr.  Sloan  shifted  uncomfortably 
from  one  foot  to  the  other. 

"  That  picture  is  me,  taken  three 
yearth  ago ;  and  I've  grown  tho  fat 
that  no  one  knowth  it !  " 

Mr.  Sloan  sprang  gallantly  into  the 
breach.  "  Why,  of  course  it  is  you. 
I  should  have  known  in  a  minute  if 
I'd  had  on  mv  other  glasses;  onlv  it  is 
thin." 

She  shook  her  head  pensively.  "  No; 
not  thin — I'm  fat.  When  that  picture 
wath  taken  I  weighed  a  hundred  and 
forty.  Now  " — she  glanced  around 
warily  and  lowered  her  voice — "  now 
I  weigh  two  hundred  and  fifteen." 

Mr.  Sloan  swallowed  hard.  He 
weighed  one  hundred  and  thirty-seven. 
"  Wh-what  started  you  to  g-gaining?  " 
he  hazarded. 

"  I  think  it  wath  cod-liver  oil.  They 
made  me  take  it  for  a  bad  cold.  And 
then  T  like  candy  and  potatoeth  and 
pathtry  and  all  thweet  things.  The 
worth t  part  of  it  is,  I'm  going  out  to 
Manila  to  be  married,  and  George 
can't  bear  fat  girlth." 

Mr.  Sloan  winced  at  the  news. 
"  Doesn't  he  know  that — you  have 
gained  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No.  I  kept 
thinking  that  I'd  diet  or  roll  or  play 
golf,  but  I  never  got  around  to  it.  He 
went  out  to  the  islandth  four  yearth 
ago.  He  callth  me  '  little  angel  '  and 
'little  girl.'  " 

In  the  midbt  of  her  trouble  she 
giggled. 


! 


636 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


"  We!!."  said  Mr.  Sloan  stiffly.  "  if 

he  prefers  scrawny  scarecrows,  he  can 
have  them.    I  prefer  'cm  plump." 

"  Thcarecrowht?" 
"  No.  Girlv" 

••  Be  thent  me  beautiful  embroidery 
from  the  J'hilippineth  —  heapth  of 
I  hem.  all  meant  for  a  thirty-six  model. 
Why.  the  wait  lit  1  have  on  is  made 
From  two  waitht-patternth.  Each  one 
made  a  thleeve — luckily  they  were 
alike— and  I  tilled  out  the  retht  with 
plain  linen." 

•  Don't  you  care."  said  the  gallant 
Sloan.  "  Don't  you  care.  The  sweet- 
Mi  things  g*OW  large,  like  sugar-cane 
and  watermelons,  and  lots  of  things.*' 

By  the  time  the  Manchuria  reached 
Honolulu  Mr.  Sloan  was  the  fervent 
and  avowed  suitor  of  Lolita.  with  the 
approval  of  every  one  from  the  captain 
to  the  deck-stewards. 

"  Say,"  he  said  to  the  orchestra 
leader  confidentially.  '*  can't  you  play 
'Oh.  You  Beautiful  Doll!'  some- 
times? I  think  that's  a  mighty  pretty 
song." 

n  Sure."  agreed  the  musician. 
"  And  wouldn't  vou  like  4  You're  My 
('.rear  Big  Blue-Eyed  Baby'?  It's 
somewhat  the  same." 

They  spent  a  happy  day  sightseeing 
at  Honolulu.  Late  in  the  afternoon 
Lolita  dismissed  her  escort  with  the 
excuse  of  shopping,  returning  just  at 
filing-time,  puffing  and  flushed. 

"  My  word."  she  panted  as  she  came 
up  the  gangplank.  "  I  nearly  mithed 
the  boat.  It  took  me  an  age  to  find 
any  thcaleth  without  a  crowd  hanging 
around.  I've  gained  two  poundth  on 
the  trip."  she  said  pensively.  "  Are 
you  quick  at  arithmetic?  4  If  a  fat  lady 
gainth  two  poundth  in  a  week  on  a 
thea-vovage.  how  much  will  she  gain 
in  three  weekth  ?  *  No,  don't  work  it 
out;  it  will  make  me  grouchy." 

"  T  wouldn't  have  you  any  different 
than  yon  are."  said  Mr.  Sloan ;  and  he 
meant  it. 

She  came  as  near  to  a  sardonic  grin 
a^  her  cupid's-bow  mouth  would  per- 
mit.   44  Yon!  "   she   said.    44  I'm  not 


worrying  about  you — but  George!  He 

hatcih  a  fat  girl!  " 

"  Let  him  go,  then.    I  love  a  fat 

girl" 

4*  Let  him  go — how  can  I  ?  He  and 
Aunt  Mabel  will  meet  me  at  the  dock. 
We  are  going  to  be  married  at  her 
home.  They  will  catch  me  coming 
down  the  gangplank.  1  can't  get  away 
without  jumping  overboard." 

Then  did  little  Sloan  prove  himself 
of  heroic  stuff.  "  Well,  if  you  won't 
have  me.  you  might  as  well  reduce  to 
suit  Cicorge." 

She  rewarded  him  with  a  brilliant 
smile — she  had  an  adorable  smile. 
44  How  shall  1  begin?" 

He  produced  a  pencil  and  note-book, 
and  in  the  lee  of  the  cabin  they  formu- 
lated an  antifat  code. 

Diet:  Breakfast  and  dinner  only; 
rations  to  consist  of  dry  toast,  weak 
tea,  untrimmed :  green  vegetables,  one 
small  piece  of  meat  each  day,  and  no 
sweets.  Sleep:  Six  hours  a  night: 
no  naps.  Exercise  :  Three-mile  sprints 
around  the  ship. 

"Now.  if  I  could  only  roll!"  ex- 
claimed Lolita. 

44  The  cabin?  "  he  suggested. 

*  Umph-um.  Thomebody  forever 
thnooping  around." 

"  The  hurricane-deck,  after  every 
one  has  gone  to  bed  ?  "  with  a  sly  sense 
of  strategy  in  securing  several  hours 
more  of  Iter  society  each  evening. 

"Great!"  she'  agreed.  "Mr. 
Thloan,  vou  are  the  bctht  friend  I  ever 
had." 

And  so  the  epic  struggle  against  fat 
began.  Lolita  stoically  stuck  to  her 
uninteresting  diet  with  the  flesh-pots 
of  Egypt  about  her. 

The  curtailed  sleep  followed  as  a 
corollary  of  the  nightly  rollings,  which 
were  harder  to  accomplish  than  to 
plan.  Mr.  Sloan  and  Lolita  were 
astounded  at  the  number  of  moon- 
struck strolling  couples  who  sprang  up 
like  mushrooms  in  the  night. 

Had  they  been  at  all  inclined  to  gos- 
sip, they  might  have  spread  many  an 
ear-whetting  item.     It  was  most  dis- 


VENUS  BY  THE  POUND. 


637 


concerting,  when  he  had  reported  the 
deck  as  deserted,  and  she,  clad  in  her 
oldest  clothes,  was  just  preparing  to 
roll,  to  hear,  "  You  silly  boy,  I'll  bet 
you  say  that  to  ever}'  girl  you  meet," 
and  amorous  murmurings  from  shad- 
owy corners. 

When  at  length  the  last  belated 
insomniacs  had  departed,  Mr.  Sloan 
essayed  the  faithful  scout  while  Lolita 
rolled  back  and  forth  on  the  deck. 

"  One — help  me  get  thtarted ;  two — 
I  hope  they  keep  the  deck  clean ;  three 
— Lordy,  I'm  fagged  now,  and  I  have 
tc  do  it  fifty  timeth;  four — darn  that 
potht ;  five  —  I've  no  —  breath — left ; 
thix  —  thith  ought  to — take — it — off  ; 
theven  —  ouch !  I'm  lame — all — over ; 
eight  — I  —  know  — I'm  black — and — 
blue." 

But  by  that  time  she  had  no  breath 
except  for  an  occasional  smothered 
giggle.  Mr.  Sloan  stood  by  unsmiling 
and  solicitous  till  the  allotted  rollings 
were  over. 

The  next  morning  she  showed  him 
multicolored  bruises  on  her  white 
arms.  '*  I've  got  more  than  I  can 
count,  all  over  me.  And  lame!  It  hurt 
me  to  turn  over  in  bed." 

Mr.  Sloan  fumed.  "  Oh.  Lolita. 
why  do  you  go  through  all  this  tor- 
ture? If  you  would  only  marry  me, 
I  wouldn't  care  how  fat  you  were.  I 
adore  every  single  ounce  of  you." 

Lolita  sighed.  "  Yeth,  I  know;  but 
George — do  you  think  I've  lotht  any?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I'm  losing  every 
day,  just  from  the  way  you're  treat- 
ing me." 

For  almost  three  weeks  they  pa- 
tiently followed  the  same  program 
without  visibly  decreasing  Lolita's 
girth. 

When  at  length  she  was  able  to  pinch 
up  a  few  scanty  wrinkles  of  loose  cloth 
in  her  gown  and  move  the  hooks  on 
her  skirt,  he  rejoiced  with  her  until  he 
reflected  that  he  was  helping  his  rival's 
cause. 

After  a  particularly  strenuous  eve- 
ning's rolling,  when  sudden  lurches  of 
the  ship  had  sent  her  careening  into" 


-every  post  on  the  deck,  she  sat  down 
and  cried  softly.  Mr.  Sloan  sought  to 
comfort  her  after  the  world-old  man- 
ner without  resistance. 

"  Lolita.  are  you  hurt  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"Poor  little  girl!  Tell  old  Alfie 
what's  the  matter." 

For  reply  she  nestled  closer,  sob- 
bing more  deeply.  "  Are  you  crying 
for  fear  George  won't — want  you?" 

She  nodded  negation.  "  Umph-um — 
for  fear  he  ivill  want  me,"  she  sobbed. 

It  took  him  a  full  minute  to  get 
that.  "  Don't — don't  you  care  for 
him  any  more?  " 

"  No,  no!  "  she  wept.  "  I  like  you 
a  million  timeth  more." 

For  a  brief  period  both  of  them 
were  too  engrossed  for  conversation. 
At  last  he  said  :  "  Then  you'll  marry 
me  in  Manila,  instead  of  George?" 

"Oh,  mercy,  no!"  gasped  Lolita. 
' '  George  would  kill  you — dead.  You 
have  no  idea  how  jcaloutli  he  is,  or 
what  a  horrible  temper — " 

Mr.  Sloan  straightened  up  man- 
fully. "  I  shall  tell  him  as  soon  as  we 
land  that  your  feelings  have  changed, 
and  he  can't  play  leading  man  at  your 
wadding." 

"  Alfie,  he  would  throw  you  otT  the 
dock,"  she  whispered,  shivering. 

"  Let  him  try — just  let  him." 

"  Oh,  Alfie,  you  are  tho  fool- 
hardy!" (  Strange,  sweet  tribute  to 
Mr.  Alfred  Sloan !)  "  He  is  thix  feet 
tall,  and  an  amateur  heavyweight.  He 
would  jutht  naturally  kill  you  in  five 
minuteth." 

Alfie  shook  his  head  in  dogged  be- 
wilderment. "  It's  too  much  for  me. 
First  you  were  afraid  he  wouldn't 
want  you,  and  now  you're  afraid  he 
will." 

On  the  morning  they  were  to  land 
Lolita  disappeared  immediately  after 
breakfast.  Wait  for  me  on  the  for- 
ward deck."  she  commanded.  "  Thtay 
there  till  I  come,  no  matter  how  late 
I  am." 

He  waited  with  impatience  that 
gave  way  to  anxiety  when,  in  Manila 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


Bay,  she  was  not  visible  among  the 
fond-eager  passengers.  He  took  his 
unobtrusive  farewells  of  his  ship  ac- 
quaintance*, with  one  eye  alert  for 
her. 

The  ship  clocked,  the  crowd  jostled 
down  the  gangplank,  and  still  she  had 
not  appeared.  He  moodily  scanned 
the  throng  00  the  dock  in  an  effort  to 
single  out  George  and  Aunt  Mabel. 
That  must  be  they  on  the  left — the 
huge,  glum  man  and  the  middle-aged, 
florid  woman  at  his  elbow. 

She  was  rather  younger  and  more 
coquettish  than  he  had  pictured  her. 
In  bold  fancy  he  walked  up  to  them, 
saying:  u  Excuse  me.  Mr.  i — Mr." — 
what  the  deuce  was  George  s  last 
name? — "but  1  merely  wanted  to  tell 
you  that  Miss  Walsh  and  I  are  going 
to  be  married.    She — " 

His  imaginary  bravado  suddenly 
vapored  off  when  George  abruptly 
turned  his  way  with  an  aggressive 
squaring  of  those  terrific  shoulders. 
He  started  at  a  touch  on  his  elbow. 
A  very  large  lady  swathed  in  heavy 
weeds  stood  beside  him,  and  Lolita's 
voice  issued  from  behind  the  crape: 
**  Alfie,  gueth  who?  " 

My  goodness.  Lolita,  what  in  the 
world  are  you  up  to?  Where  did  you 
get  that  rig?  " 

"  From  the  thtewardeth.  Would 
you  know  me?  " 

"  I  should  say  not !  " 

"  Then  I  gueth  George  won't  either. 
It  was  the  only  way  to  get  by  him 
without  a  row.  Careful,  now!  L<K>k 
back  as  we  go  by  and  tell  me  what 
they  are  doing." 

She  indicated  the  couple,  now  among 
the  last  on  the  dock,  whom  Alfie  had 
selected  for  George  and  Aunt  Mabel. 
Just  as  they  brushed  by  George  boomed 
out  in  a  great  bass :  M  She  must  be 
there  somewhere!  There's  nothing 
for  it  but  to  ask  the  captain." 

Lolita  clutched  Alfic's  arm.  "  Quick 
—run,"  she  panted,  "  before  anv  one 
can  tell  him !  Call  a  carriage,  and  we 
can  think  what  to  do  while  we  are 
et  heaping." 


"  There's  only  one  thing  to  do,'* 
said  Alfie,  in  the  protection  of  an  an- 
cient victoria.  "  We  must  get  mar- 
ried first  and  tell  him  afterward.  He 
can't  do  anything  then."  Since  seeing 
George,  the  idea  of  announcing  their 
engagement  to  him  failed  to  attract 
him. 

"  Can't  do  anything? "  said  Lolita 
in  italics.  "  I  gueth  he  could  make  me 
a  widow  in  about  five  minuteth.  Well, 
I'd  be  Mitheth  Thloan,  anyway,"  she 

beamed. 

Two  hours  later,  gazing  too  deeply 
into  the  eyes  of  her*brand-new  hus- 
band to  mind  her  steps,  Lolita  crashed 
into  a  large  man  as  she  turned  a 

corner. 

The  usual  recoil  and  apologies  fol- 
lowed ;  then  she  gave  a  hysterical 
giggle,  while  the  man's  face  turned  a 
sickly  green. 

"Lolita,  how  you're  changed!  And 
where  in  the  world  have  you  been?" 
he  exclaimed. 

"  How  d'ye  do.  George?"  she  said 
tranquilly.  u  Why  didn't  you  meet 
me?" 

He  stammered  unintelligibly,  and  it 
flashed  over  Mr.  Sloan  that  he  seemed 
scarcely  less  prepared  than  Lolita  for 
the  meeting. 

"The  fact  is.  Lolita  —  I  might  as 
well  get  it  over — I'm  a  cad  and  all 
that,  but  my  feelings  have  changed  in 
the  last  year.  Since  I've  been  going 
so  often  to  your  aunt's  I've — that 
is.  we — well,  we've  come  to  care  for 
each  other." 

Lolita  stared,  and  stared,  and 
stared,  her  eyes  rounder  every  minute. 
"  Aunt  Mabel."  she  murmured. 

George  blundered  on.  drops  of  per- 
spiration oozing  from  him  in  his  dis- 
tress. 

"  She  is  a  remarkable  woman,  and 
only  six  years  older  than  I.  Besides, 
she  is — that  is.  she  has  great  business 
ability,  and — please  don't  look  at  me 
like  that,  Lolita.  I'm  sorry  if  you're 
disappointed;  but  Mabel  said  we'd  bet- 
ter let  you  come  on  and  have  a  nice 
visit,  and  stay  for  the  wedding  if  you 


VENUS  BY  THE  POUND.  639 

want  to.    I  think  we  can  show  you  a  Thloan.    I  haven't  had  him  very  long, 

good  time."  and  I'm  quite  proud  of  him." 

He  looked  at  her  anxiously.  "  Please  In  a  daze  the  two  men  shook  hands, 

don't  faint,  or  anything  like  that,  Lo-  while  she  beamed  largely  before  them, 

lita,"  he  implored.    "  I'll  get  you  a  "  Phone  to  Aunt  Mabel,  George, 

drink  of  water."  and  we'll  all  dine  together.    I'm  going 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  to  de-  to  have  chicken  and  potatoeth  thouffle. 

tain  him.    "  George,"  she  said  calmly,  Can  you  get  potatoeth  thouffle  in  the 

"let  me  prethent  my  huthband,  Mr.  Philippineth?    she  asked  anxiously. 

xx        tr        u  tf 
WHICH? 

BY  "TENDERFOOT" 

IN  the  smoke  of  its  hundred  foundries, 
In  the  dust  of  the  fetid  street. 
In  the  glare  of  its  man-built  canons, 

Is  it  wiser,  O  Lord,  and  meet, 
That  I  should  stay  on  by  this  city. 

Where  my  fathers  built  with  pride, 
When  the  Voice  of  the  North  is  calling — 
Calling  me  back  to  her  side? 
Back  to  her  wind-blown  ridges, 
Where  the  moose  stalk,  bold  and  free; 
Back  to  the  lonely  packer's  trail — 
Which  is  the  better  for  me? 

In  the  fight  of  the  mad  day's  progress, 

In  the  swirl  of  the  money-gods, 
In  a  mart  sans  honor  and  mercy, 

Must  I  stay,  not  counting  the  odds — 
Living  each  day  like  the  other. 

Following  the  sign-posts  of  men. 
When  the  Voice  of  the  North  is  calling — 
Ever  calling  me  back  again? 

Back  to  the  wild  brook's  singing. 
And  pools  where  the  red  trout  lie; 
Back  to  the  red  fires  gleaming — 
Which  is  it,  to  live  or  to  die? 

In  the  race  for  show  with  your  betters, 

In  an  age  when  faith  is  unknown, 
In  the  warp  of  the  tangled  threads  of  life, 

Must  I  reap  where  others  have  sown, 
And  play  when  the  dice  roll  heavy, 

Well  knowing  a  crooked  game, 
When  the  Voice  of  the  North  is  calling — 
Calling  me,  ever  the  same? 
Back  to  the  still  lake's  edges, 
Where  the  deer  come  out  to  play; 
Back  to  the  loon's  lone  crying — 
Which  is  it,  to  go  or  stay? 


romise 


W  James  5.  Hendry?? 

Author  of  "  The  Law  of  th«  Wmm."  "  M«/yu»rd.  the  Silt nt ."  etc. 

SYNOPSIS  OF  PRECEDING  CHAPTERS 

BILL  CAR.MODV.  big,  powerful,  red-blooded,  inheriting  through  his  mother  the 
reckless  strain  of  the  fighting  MeKims.  has  been  going  the  pace  on  Broadway. 
As  the  result  of  a  particularly  wild  escapade  he  is  disinherited  by  his  father,  a  cold, 
narrow-minded  millionaire  banker,  and  dismissed  with  chilling  contempt  by  his  sweet- 
heart, Ethel  Manton.  Bitter  and  disheartened,  but  with  the  avowed  intention  of  mak- 
ing good.  Bill  starts  West.  On  the  way  the  train  is  wrecked  and  he  saves  a  wounded 
stranger  from  two  crooks  who  are  about  to  rob  and  murder  him.  The  stranger  proves 
to  be  H.  D.  Appleton,  a  prominent  lumberman,  who  offers  Bill  a  job  either  in  the 
woods  as  a  lumber-jack,  or  in  the  office.  Bill  chooses  the  woods,  and  starts  alone  for 
the  camp  of  which  Buck  Moncrossen,  a  fine  lumberman,  but  a  bully  and  general  bad 
man,  is  boss.  Being  a  greener  (tenderfoot).  Bill  starts  to  walk  the  eighty  miles  of 
rough  forest  trail  between  the  end  of  the  railroad  and  the  camp,  without  proper  food 
or  boots,  and  with  no  snow-shoes  or  firearms.  Thanks  to  his  great  strength  and 
endurance,  however,  he  wins  almost  through,  but  at  nightfall  of  the  third  day  a  pack 
of  wolves — led  by  an  enormous,  gaunt,  battle  and  trap  scarred  female — that  have  been 
trailing  him  for  hours,  begin  to  close  in  threateningly.  Enraged.  Bill  hurls  his  ax 
among  them,  killing  one,  and  then  armed  only  with  his  knife,  attacks  the  huge  leader. 
Together  they  go  down  locked  in  a  death  grip. 


CHAPTER  XV. 
The  Werwolf. 

QW,  as  all  men  know,  Bill 
Carmody  had  done  a  most 
foolish  and  insane  thing. 

But  the  very  audacity  of 
his  act  —  and  the  god  of 
chance  —  favored  him,  for 
as  the  ax  whizzed  through 
the  air  the  keen  edge  of  the  whirling 
hit  caught  one  of  the  larger  wolves 
fatt  en  the  side  of  the  head. 

There  followed  the  peculiar,  dull 
scrunching  sound  that  stands  alone 
among  all  other  sounds,  being  pro- 
duced by  no  other  thing  than  the  sud- 
den crush  of  a  living  skull. 


The  front  and  side  of  the  skull  lift- 
ed and  turned  backward  upon  its  hinge 
of  raw  scalp  and  the  wolf  went  down, 
clawing  and  biting,  and  over  the  snow 
flowed  thick  red  blood,  and  a  thicker 
mucus  of  soft,  wet  brains. 

At  the  sight  and  scent  of  the  warm 
blood,  the  companions  of  the  stricken 
brute — the  gaunt,  tireless  leaders,  who 
had  traveled  beside  him  in  the  van, 
and  the  rag  -  tag  and  bobtail  alike  — 
fell  upon  him  tooth  and  nail,  and  the 
silence  of  the  forest  was  shattered  by 
the  blood-cry  of  the  meat-getters. 

X"t  so  the  great  she-wolf,  who  de- 
spised these  others  that  fought  among 
themselves,  intent  only  upon  the  sat- 
isfaction of  their  hunger. 


Thi.  story  began  in  the  All-Story  Weekly  for  May  29. 

640 


THE  PROMISE. 


C41 


Her  purpose  in  trailing  this  man  to 
destruction  was  of  deep  vengeance; 
the  assuagement  of  an  abysmal  hatred 
that  smoldered  in  her  heart  against 
every  individual  of  the  terrible  man 
kind,  whose  cruel  traps  of  iron,  blades 
of  steel,  and  leaden  bullets  had  made 
her  a  monstrous,  sexless  thing,  feared 
and  unsought  by  mating  males,  hated 
of  her  own  breed. 

And  now,  at  the  moment  she  had 
by  the  cunning  of  her  generalship  de- 
livered this  man  an  easy  prey  to  her 
followers,  they  deserted  her  and  fell 
in  swinish  greed  upon  the  first  meat 
at  hand. 

So  that  at  the  last  she  faced  her 
enemy  alone,  and  the  smoldering  fury 
of  her  heart  blazed  green  from  her 
wicked  eyes.  She  stood  tense  as  a 
pointer,  every  hair  of  her  long  white 
coat  bristlingly  aquiver. 

Suddenly  she  threw  back  her  head, 
pointed  her  sharp  muzzle  to  the  sky, 
and  gave  voice  to  the  long  -  drawn 
ululation  which  is  the  battle  -  cry  of 
wolves. 

Yet  it  was  not  the  wolf -cry,  for 
long  ago  the  malformation  of  a  heal- 
ing throat  -  wound  had  distorted  the 
bell-like  cry  into  a  hideous  scream 
like  the  shriek  of  a  soul  foredamned, 
which  quavered  loud  and  shrill  upon 
the  keen  air  and  ended  in  a  series  of 
quick  jerks,  like  stabs  of  horrible 
laughter. 

And  then,  with  tight-drawn  lips  and 
jaws  agape,  she  hurled  herself  straight 
at  the  throat  of  the  stumbling  man. 

Darkness  was  gathering  when,  a 
mile  to  the  northward,  Jake  LaFranz 
and  Irish  Fallon,  who  were  laboring 
with  six  big  horses  and  a  rough  log 
drag  to  break  out  the  trail,  suddenly 
paused  to  listen. 

Through  the  thin,  cold  air  rang  a 
sound  the  like  of  which  neither  had 
over  heard.  And  then,  as  if  in  echo, 
the  long-drawn  wail  of  the  great 
white  wolf. 

They  stared  at  each  other  white- 
lipped;  for  that  last  cry  was  a  thing 

5  a-s 


men  talked  about  of  nights  with  bated 
breath  and  deep  curses.  Neither  had 
heard  it  before — nor  would  either  hear 
it  again  —  but  each  recognized  the 
sound  instinctively,  as  he  would  rec- 
ognize the  sound  of  Gabriel's  trump. 

"  It's  her!  M  gasped  LaFranz.  u  God 
save  us!  It's  Diablesse  —  the  loup- 
garou! " 

'Tis  none  other — that  last.  But, 
man  !  Alan !  The  first  wan !  Was  it 
a  human  cry  or  from  the  throat  of 
another  of  her  hell-begotten  breed?" 

Without  waiting  to  reply  the 
Frenchman  swung  the  big  six-team  in 
their  tracks  and  headed  them  toward 
camp.  But  Irish  Fallon  reached  for 
him  as  he  fumbled  at  the  clevis. 

"  Howld  on,  3re  frog-eater!  Be  a 
man!  If  'twas  human  tore  loose  that 
yell  he'll  be  the  bether  fer  help,  not- 
withstandin'  there  was  more  av  foight 
nor  fear  in  th'  sound." 

"No,  no,  no!  It's  her!  It's  Dia- 
blesse!"   He  crossed  himself. 

"  Sure,  an'  ut  is ;  bad  cess  to  her 
altogether.  But  Oi  got  a  hear-rt  in 
me  ribs  o'  good  rid  blood  that  takes 
relish  now  an'  agin  in  a  bit  av  a  foight. 
An',  man  or  baste,  Oi  ain't  particular, 
so  'tis  a  good  wan. 

"  Oi'll  be  goin'  down  th'  thrail  a 
piece  an'  see  phwat's  to  see.  Oi  ain't 
axin'  ye  to  go  'long.  Ye  poor  prayer- 
dhrivlin'  havthen,  wid  yer  limon  av 
a  hear  -  rt  ye've  got  a  yallar  shtripe 
that  raches  to  th'  length  an'  width  av 
ye.    Ye'd  be  no  good  nohow. 

"  But  'tis  mesilf  ain't  fearin'  th' 
evil  eye  av  th'  werwolf  —  an'  she  is 
called  be  the  name  av  th'  divil's  own. 

u  But  listen  ye  here,  ye  pea  -  soup 
Frenchy!  Ye'll  not  go  shnakin'  of? 
wid  thim  harses.  Ye'll  bide  here  till 
Oi  come  back." 

The  other  made  a  whimper  of  pro- 
test, but  Irish  Fallon  reached  out  a 
great  hairy  hand  an^;  shook  him 
roughly. 

"  Yez  moind  now,  an'  Oi  mane  ut ! 
Here  ye  shtay.  An'  av  ye  ain't  here, 
ye'd  bether  kape  on  goin'.  F'r  th' 
nixt  toime  Oi  lay  eyes  on  ye  Oi'll 


642 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


br-reak  ye  in  two!  An'  don't  ye  fer- 
git  ut !  " 

The  big  Irishman  turned  and  swung 
down  the  tote-road,  the  webs  of  his 
rackets  leaving  a  broad  trail  in  the 
snow.  La  Franz  cowered  upon  the 
snow  -  plow  and  sought  refuge  in 
craven  prayer  and  curses  the  while  he 
shot  frightened  glances  into  the  dark- 
ening forest. 

He  thought  of  cutting  the  horses 
loose  and  starting  them  for  camp  at  a 
run.  But.  much  as  he  feared  the  wer- 
wolf, he  feared  Irish  Fallon  more; 
for  many  were  the  tales  of  Fallon's 
man-fights  when  his  "  Irish  was  up." 

When  the  white  wolf  sprang  the 
man  had  nearly  reached  the  snarling 
pack.  Before  him.  scarcely  six  feet 
away,  lay  his  ax.  the  blade  smeared 
with  blood  and  brains,  to  which  clung 
stiff  gray  hairs. 

Instinctively  he  ducked,  and  as  the 
huge  form  flashed  past  his  right  arm 
S$l6t  out  straight  from  the  shoulder. 
The  long,  clean  blade  entered  just  at 
the  point  of  the  brisket  and.  ranging 
upward,  was  buried  to  the  haft  as  the 
knife  was  torn  from  his  grasp. 

One  step  and  the  man's  fingers 
closed  about  the  helve  of  his  ax.  and 
he  whirled  to  meet  the  second  on- 
slaught. 

But  there  was  small  need.  The 
great  brute  stood  still  in  her  tracks 
and.  with  lowered  head,  snapped  and 
wrenched  at  the  thing  that  bit  into  her 
very  lungs. 

The  stag  -  horn  plates  of  the  pro- 
truding hilt  were  splintered  under  the 
clamp  of  the  mighty  jaws,  and  the 
\onS>  gleaming  teeth  made  deep  dents 
in  the  brass  beneath.  Her  lips  red- 
dened, and  before  her  the  snow  was 
flecked  w  ith  blood. 

All  this  the  man  took  in  at  a  glance 
without  conscious  impression.  He 
gripped  his  weapon  and  sprang  among 
the  lighting  pack,  which  ripped  and 
dragged  at  the  carcass  of  the  dead 
wolf. 

Right  and  left  he  struck  in  a  reck- 


less fume  of  ferocity,  which  spoke  of 
unreasoning  fights  in  worlds  of  sav- 
age firstlings.  And  under  the  smash- 
ing blows  of  the  ax  wolves  went  down 
—  skulls  split,  spines  crushed,  ribs 
caved  in  —  a  side  at  a  stroke,  and 
shoulders  were  cloven  clean  and  deep 
to  pink  sponge  lungs. 

As  if  realizing  that  her  hurt  was 
mortal,  the  great  she-wolf  abandoned 
her  attack  on  the  knife-haft  and,  sum- 
moning her  strength  for  a  supreme 
effort,  sprang  straight  into  the  midst 
of  the  red  shambles. 

The  man.  caught  unawares,  went 
down  under  the  impact  of  her  body. 
For  one  fleeting  second  he  stared  up- 
ward into  blazing  eyes.  From  between 
w  ide  -  sprung  rows  of  flashing  fangs 
the  blood  -  dripping,  tongue  seemed  to 
writhe  from  the  cavernous  throat,  and 
the  foul  breath  blew  hot  against  his 
face.  Instantly  his  strong  fingers 
buried  themselves  in  the  shaggy  fur 
close  under  the  hinge  of  the  jaw, 
while  his  other  hand  closed  about  the 
dented  brass  of  the  protruding  knife- 
hilt. 

With  the  whole  strength  of  his  arm 
he  held  the  savage  jaws  from  his  face 
as  he  wrenched  and  twisted  at  the 
firmly  embedded  knife.  Finally  it 
loosened,  and  as  the  thick  -  backed 
blade  was  withdrawn  from  the  wound 
it  wa>  followed  by  spurt  after 
spurt  of  blood — bright,  frothy  blood, 
straight  from  the  lungs,  which  gushed 
hot  and  wet  over  him. 

Blindly  he  struck;  stabbing,  thrust- 
ing, slashing  at  the  great  form  which 
was  pressing  him  deeper  and  deeper 
into  the  snow.  Again  and  again  the 
knife  was  turned  against  rib  and 
shoulder-blade,  inflicting  only  shallow 
surface  wounds. 

At  length  a  heavy,  straight  up- 
thnist  encountered  no  obstacle  of 
bone,  and  the  blade  bit  deep  and 
deeper  into  living  flesh. 

As  with  a  final  effort  the  knife  was 
driven  home,  a  convulsive  shiver 
racked  the  body  of  the  great  white 
wolf,  and  with  a  low,  gurgling  moan 


THE  PROMISE. 


043 


of  agony  her  jaws  set  rigid,  her  mus- 
cles stiffened,  and  she  toppled  sidewise 
into  the  snow,  where  she  lay  twitching 
spasmodically  with  glazing  eyes. 

Bill  staggered  weakly  to  his  feet. 

The  uninjured  wolves  had  vanished, 
leaving  their  dead  upon  the  snow, 
while  the  wounded  left  flat,  red  trails 
as  they  sought  to  drag  their  broken 
bodies  to  the  cover  of  the  forest. 

Irish  Fallon  rounded  a  turn  of  the 
tote-road.  He  brought  up  sharply 
and  stared  open-mouthed  at  the  man 
who,  sheath-knife  in  hand,  stood  look- 
ing down  at  an  indistinct  object  which 
lay  upon  the  blood-trampled  snow. 

Carmody  turned  and  shouted  a 
greeting,  but  without  a  word  the  Irish- 
man advanced  to  his  side  until  he,  too, 
stood  looking  down  at  the  thing  in  the 
snow.  Suddenly  Bill's  hand  was 
seized  in  a  mighty  grip. 

"  Man !  'Tis  her,  an'  no  mistake ! 
She's  done  for  at  lasht — an'  blade  to 
fang,  in  open  toight  ye've  knoifed  her! 
Sure,  'tis  a  gr-rand  toime  ye've  had 
altogether,"  he  said,  glancing  at  the 
carcasses,  "  wid  six  dead  besides  her 
an'  three  more  as  good  as." 

Bill  laughed:  44  This  wolf— the  big 
white  one — seems  to  enjoy  a  reputa- 
tion, then?  " 

"  R-r-reputation  !  R-r-reputation,  is 
ut?  Good  Lord,  man!  Don't  ye  know 
her?  'Tis  th'  werwolf!  D'ablish, 
th'  loup-garoit,  the  Frinchies  call  her; 
an'  the  white  divil,  the  Injuns  —  an' 
good  ray  son,  f'r  to  me  own  knowledge 
she's  kilt  foive  folks,  big  an'  shmall, 
an'  some  Injuns  besides. 

"  They  claim  she's  a  divil,  an'  phwin 
she  howls  'tis  because  some  sowl  has 
missed  th'  happy  huntin'  grounds  in 
th'  dyin',  an'  she's  laughin'." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  blame  them," 
said  Bill.  '*  She  favored  me  with  a 
vocal  selection.  And,  believe  me,  she 
was  no  mocking-bird." 

"  Well,  she  looks  dead,  now," 
grinned  Fallon ;  *'  but  we'd  besht  make 
sure.  Owld  man  Frontenelle  kilt  her 
wunst.  Seven  year  back,  ut  was,  over 
on  Monish. 


"  He  shot  her  clean  t'rough  th'  neck 
an'  dhrug  her  to  his  cabin  be  th'  tail. 
He  was  for  skinnin'  her  flat  f'r  th' 
robe  she'd  make.  He  had  her  stretched 
out  phwin  wid  a  flash  an'  a  growl,  she 
was  at  um,  an'  wid  wan  clap  av  th' 
jaws  she  ripped  away  face  an'  half  th' 
scalp. 

"  They  found  um  wanderin'  blind 
on  th'  lake  ice  an'  carried  um  to  Skel- 
ly's  phwere  he  died  in  tin  days'  toime 
av  hydrophoby,  shnarlin'  an'  bitin'  at 
folks  till  they  had  to  chain  um  in  th' 
shtoreroom." 

'As  he  spoke,  Fallon  picked  up  the 
ax,  and  with  several  well-directed 
blows  shattered  the  skull  of  the  wer- 
wolf against  any  possibility  of  a  repe- 
tition of  the  Frontenelle  incident. 

"  But  come,  man,  get  yer  rackets 
an'  we'll  be  hittin'  the  thrail  f'r  camp. 
Sure,  Frinchy'll  be  scairt  shtiff  av  we 
lave  um  longer." 

"  Rackets?  "  asked  Bill,  with  a  look 
of  perplexity. 

"  Yer  shnow-shoes,  av  coorse." 

"  Haven't  got  any.  And  I  don't  sup- 
pose I  could  use  them  if  I  had."  .The 
other  stared  at  him  incredulously. 

"Not  got  anv!  Thin  how'd  ve  git 
here?" 

"  Walked  —  or  rather,  stumbled 
along." 

"Phwere  from?" 

"  It  started  to  snow  as  I  left  the  old 
shack — the  last  one  this  way,  I  don't 
know  how  far  back.  It  was  there  I 
traded  my  boots  to  an  Indian  for 
these."  He  extended  a  moccasined 
foot. 

"  'Tis  a  good  job  ye  traded.  But 
even  at  that  —  thirty  -  foive  moile 
t'rough  th'  snow  widout  webs !  "  The 
Irishman  looked  at  him  in  open  admi- 
ration. "  An'  on  top  av  that,  killin' 
tlr  werwolf  wid  a  knoife,  an'  chop- 
pin'  her  pack  loike  so  much  kindlin's! 

"  Green,  ye  may  be — an'  ignorant. 
But,  frind.  ye've  done  a  man's  job  this 
day,  an'  Oi'm  pr-roud  to  know  yez." 

Again  he  extended  his  hand  and  Bill 
seized  it  in  a  strong  grip.  Somehow, 
he  did  not  resent  being  called  green, 


644 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


and  ignorant— he  was  learning  the 

north. 

Fallon's  me  name."  the  other  con- 
tinued. w  an'  be  an  accident  av  birth. 
Oi'm  called  Oirish.  f'r  short." 

"  Mine  is  Bill,  which  is  shorter,"  re- 
plied Carmody,  smiting. 

For  just  a  second  Irish  hesitated  as 
if  expecting  further  enlightenment, 
but.  receiving  none,  reached  down  and 
grasped  the  tail  of  the  white  wolf. 

"  'Tis  a  foine  robe  she'll  make.  Bill, 
an'  in  lb1  north,  among  white  min  an' 
itljuns,  'twill  give  ye  place  an'  shtand- 
in\— but  not  wid  Moncrossen."  he  add- 
ed with  a  frow  n. 

"  Come  on  along.  Foller  yez  in  be- 
hint.  f'r  th'  tlirail'll  be  fair  br-roke. 
Phwat  wid  two  thrips  wid  th'  rackets 
an'  th*  dhrag  av  th'  wolf,  'twill  not  be 
bad.  'Tis  only  a  mather  av  twinty 
minutes  to  phwere  Frinchy'll  beiher 
be  waitin'  wid  th'  harses." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
Moncrossen. 

THEY  found  LaFranz  waiting  in 
fear  and  trembling.    The  heavy 
snow-plow  was  left  in  readiness 
for  the  morrow's  trail-breaking,  and 
the  horses  hitched  to  a  rough  sled  and 
headed  for  camp. 

"An*  ye  say  Misther  Appleton  sint 
ye   up    to    wor-rk    in  Moncrossen's 
camp?  ''    The  two  were  seated  on  the 
log  bunk  at  the  back  of  the  sled  while 
the  Frenchman  drove,  keeping  a  fear- 
ful eye  on  the  white  wolf.    For  old 
man  Frontenelle  had  been  his  uncle. 
"  Yes.  he  told  me  to  report  here." 
"  D've  know  Moncrossen?" 
"  No." 

"  Well,  ye  will,  ag  in'  shpring."  Irish 
replied  dryly. 

"  What  do  you  mean,"  asked  Bill. 

Irish  shrugged.  "  Oi  mane  this."  he 
answered.  "  Moncrossen  is  a  har-rd 
man  altogether.  He  hates  a  greener. 
He  thinks  no  wan  but  an  owld  hand 
has  any  business  in  th'  woods,  an'  'tis 
his  boast  that  in  wan  season  he'll  make 


a  lumber-jack  or  a  corpse  out  av  any 

greener. 

"  An'  comin'  from  Appleton  his- 
self  he'll  hate  ye  worse'n  ever,  f'r  he'll 
think  ye'll  be  afther  crimpin'  his  bird's- 
eye  game.  Take  advice,  Bill,  an'  kape 
on  th'  good  side  av  um  av  ye  can. 

"  He'll  throw*  ut  into  ye  wid  all  man- 
ner av  dhirty  thricks,  but  howld  ye're 
timper,  an'  maybe  ye'll  winter  ut  out — 
an'  maybe  ye  won't." 

"  What  is  a  bird's-eye  game?  " 

Fallon  glanced  at  him  sharply. 
"  D'ye  mane  ye  don't  know  about  th' 
bird's-eye?"  he  asked. 

"  Not  a  thing."  replied  Bill. 

"  Thin  listen  to  me.  Don't  ye  niver 
say  bird's-eye  in  this  camp  av  ye  ex- 
pect t<»  winter  ut  out." 

Bill  was  anxious  to  hear  more  about 
the  mysterious  bird's-eye,  but  the  sled 
suddenly  emerged  into  a  wide  clear- 
ing and  Irish  was  pointing  out  the  va- 
rious buildings  of  the  log  camp. 

Bright  squares  of  light  showed  from 
the  windows  of  the  bunk-house,  office, 
and  grub-shack,  with  its  adjoining 
cook-shack,  from  the  iron  stovepipe  of 
which  sparks  shot  skyward  in  a  con- 
tinuous shower. 

Fallon  shouldered  the  wolf  and,  ac- 
companied by  Bill,  made  toward  the 
bunk-house,  while  the  Frenchman 
turned  the  team  toward  the  stable. 

"  Agin'  we  git  washed  up,  supper'U 
be  ready."  announced  Irish,  as  he  de- 
posited the  wolf  carcass  beside  the 
door  and  entered. 

Inside  the  long,  low  room,  lined  on 
either  side  by  a  double  row  of  bunks, 
were  gathered  upward  of  a  hundred 
men  waiting  the  supper  call. 

They  were  big  men,  for  the  most 
part,  rough  clad  and  unshaven.  Many 
were  seated  upon  the  edges  of  the 
bunks  smoking  and  talking,  others 
grouped  about  the  three  big  stoves, 
and  the  tobacco-reeking  air  was  laden 
with  the  rumble  of  throaty  conversa- 
tion, broken  here  and  there  by  the 
sharp  scratch  of  a  match,  a  loud  laugh, 
or  a  deep-growled,  good-natured  curse. 

Into  this    assembly  stepped  Irish 


THE  PROMISE. 


645 


Fallon,  closely  followed  by  Bill,  the 
sight  of  whose  blood-stained  face  at- 
tracted  grinning  attention.  The  two 
men  passed  the  length  of  the  room  to 
the  wash-bench,  where  a  few  loiterers 
still  splashed  noisily  at  their  ablutions. 

"  I  heard  it  plain,  I'm  tellin'  you," 
some  one  was  saying.  "  'Way  off  to 
the  south  it  sounded." 

"  That  ain't  no  lie,"  broke  in  an- 
other, *'  I  hearn  it  myself — jest  before 
dark,  it  was.  An'  I  know!  Didn't  I 
hear  it  that  night  over  on  Ten  Fork? 
The  time  she  got  Jack  Kane's  woman, 
four  year  ago.  come  Chris'mus.  Yes, 
sir!  I  tell  you  the  werwolf's  nigh 
about  this  camp,  an'  it's  me  in  off  the 
edges  afore  dark !  " 

"  They  say  she  never  laughs  but  she 
makes  a  kill,"  said  one. 

God !  I  was  at  Skelly's  when  they 
brought  old  man  Frontenelle  in,"  add- 
ed a  big  man,  whose  heavy  beard  was 
shot  with  gray,  as  he  turned  from  the 
stove  with  a  shudder. 

"  They's  some  Injuns  trappin'  be- 
low :  she  might  of  got  one  of  them," 
opined  a  short,  stockily  built  man  who, 
catching  sight  of  the  newcomers,  ad- 
dressed Fallon: 

"  Hey,  Irish,  you  was  down  on  the 
tote-road;  did  you  hear  Diablesse?  " 

Fallon  finished  drying  his  face  upon 
the  coarse  roller-towel  and  faced  the 
group  who  waited  expectantly.  "  Yis, 
Oi  hear-rd  her,  all  roight,"  replied 
Fallon  lightly.  "  An'  thin  Oi  see'd 
her." 

Others  crowded  about,  hanging 
upon  his  words.  "  An'  thin,  be  way 
av  show-in'  me  contimpt."  he  added, 
"  Oi  dhnig  her  a  moile  or  more  t'rough 
th'  woods  be  th'  tail." 

Loud  laughter  followed  this  asser- 
tion ;  but  not  a  few,  especially  among 
the  older  men.  shook  their  heads  in 
open  disapproval,  and  muttered  curses 
at  his  levity. 

"But  me  frind  Bill,  here,"  Irish 
continued.  "  c'n  tell  ye  more  about 
her  n  phwat  Oi  kin.  He's  new  in  th' 
woods,  Bill  is;  an'  so  damned  green  he 
know'd  nayther  th'  manein'  nor  use  av 


th'  rackets.  So,  be  gad,  he  come  wid- 
out  'em.  Mushed  two  whole  days 
t'rough  th'  shnow. 

*'  But.  listen ;  no  mather  how  igno- 
rant, nor  how  much  he  don't  know,  a 
good  man's  a  man — an'  to  pr-rove  ut 
he  jumps  wid  his  ax  roight  into  th' 
middle  av  th'  werwolf's  own  an'  kills 
noine.  countin'  th'  three  cripples  Oi 
finished. 

"  But  wid  D'ablish  herself,  moind. 
he  t'row'd.  away  his  ax  an'  goes  to  a 
clinch  wid  his  knoife  in  his  fisht.  An* 
phwin  'tis  over  an'  he  picks  himsilf  up 
out  av  th'  shnow  an'  wipes  th'  blood 
from  his  eyes  —  her  blood  —  f'r  he 
comes  out  av  ut  widout  schratch  nor 
scar — D'ablish  lays  at  his  feet  dead  as 
a  nit." 

Fallon  gazed  triumphantly  into  the 
incredulous  faces  of  the  men,  and. 
with  a  smile,  added,  "  'Twas  thin  Oi 
dhrug  her  be  th'  tail  to  th'  sled,  afther 
shmashin'  her  head  wid  th'  ax  to  make 
sure." 

"An'  where  is  she  now.  Irish?" 
mocked  one.  u  Did  she  jump  off  the 
sled  an'  make  a  getaway?" 

Over  at  the  grub  shack  the  cook's 
half-breed  helper  beat  lustily  upon  the 
discarded  saw-blade  that  hung  sus- 
pended by  a  wire,  and  the  men  crowd- 
ed noisily  out  of  the  doors. 

"  Oi'll  show  ye  afther  supper,  ye 
damned  shpalpeen.  how  much  av  her 
got  away!  "  shouted  Irish,  who  waited 
for  Bill  to  remove  the  evidence  of  his 
fight  before  piloting  him  to  the  grub 
shack. 

A  single  table  of  rough  lumber  cov- 
ered with  brown  oilcloth  extended  the 
full  length  of  the  center  of  the  room. 
Above  this  table  six  huge  "  Chicago 
burners  "  lighted  the  interior,  which, 
as  the  two  men  entered,  was  a  hive  of 
noisy  activity. 

Men  scuffled  for  places  upon  the  sta- 
tionary benches  arranged  along  either 
side  of  the  table.  Heavy  porcelain 
thumped  the  board,  and  the  air  was 
filled  with  the  metallic  din  of  steel 
knives  and  forks  being  gathered  into 
bearlike  hands. 


64G 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


Up  and  down  the  wide  alleys  behind 
the  benches  hurried  flunkies  bearing 
huge  tin  pots  of  steaming  coffee,  and 
the  incessant  returning  of  thick  cups 
to  their  saucers  was  like  the  rattle  of 
musketry. 

But  the  thing  that  impressed  the 
half- famished  Bill  was  the  profusion 
of  food;  never  in  his  life,  he  thought, 
had  he  beheld  so  tempting  an  array  of 
things  to  eat.  Great  trenchers  of  fried 
pork,  swimming  in  its  own  grease,  al- 
ternated the  full  length  of  the  table 
with  huge  pans  of  baked  beans. 

Mountains  of  light,  snowy  bread 
rose  at  short  intervals  from  among 
f.H.t-hills  of  baked  potatoes,  steaming 
dishes  of  macaroni  and  stewed  toma- 
toes, canned  corn,  peas,  and  apple 
sauce,  and  great  yellow  rolls  of  butter, 
into  which  the  knives  of  the  men  skived 
deeply. 

The  two  passed  behind  the  benches 
in  search  of  vacant  places  .when  sud- 
denly an  undersized  flunky  stumbled 
awkwardly,  dropping  the  coffee-pot. 
which  sent  a  wash  of  steaming  brown 
liquid  over  the  floor. 

Instantly  a  great,  hulking  man  with 
a  wide,  flat  face  and  low  forehead  sur- 
mounted by  a  thick  thatch  of  black 
hair,  below  which  two  swinish  eyes 
scintillated  unevenly,  paused  in  the  act 
Of  raising  a  great  calk-booted  foot  over 
the  bench. 

The  thick,  pendulous  lips  under  his 
ragged  mustache  curled  backward, 
exposing  a  crenate  row  of  jagged 
brown  teeth.  He  stepped  directly  in 
front  of  the  two  men  and.  reaching 
out  a  thick  hand,  caught  the  unfor- 
tunate flunky  by  the  scruff  as  he  re- 
gained his  balance. 

From  his  lips  poured  an  unbroken 
stream  of  vile  epithets  and  soul-sear- 
ing curses  while  he  shook  the  whim- 
pering wretch  with  a  violence  that 
threatened  serious  results,  and  ended 
by  pinning  him  against  the  log  wall 
and  drawing  back  his  huge  arm  for  a 
terrific  shoulder  blow. 

The  vicious  brutality  of  the  attack 
following  so  trivial  an  offense  aroused 


Bill  Carmody's  anger.  The  man's 
back  was  toward  him,  and  Bill  grasped 
the  back-drawn  arm  at  the  wrist  ancf 
with   an  ungentle  jerk  whirled  the 

other  in  his  tracks. 

The  man  released  the  flunky  and 
faced  him  with  a  snarl.  14  Who  done 
that?  "  he  roared. 

"I  did.    Hit  me.    I  tripped  him." 

Bill's  voice  was  dead  level  and  low, 
but  it  carried  to  the  farthest  reaches 
of  the  room,  over  which  had  fallen  a 
silence  of  expectation.  Men  saw  that 
the  hard,  gray  eyes  of  the  stranger 
narrowed  ominously. 

"  An'  who  the  hell  are  you?  "  The 
words  whistled  through  the  bared 
teeth  and  a  flush  of  fury  flooded  the 
man's  face. 

"  What  do  you  care?  I  tripped  him. 
Hit  me ! "  and  the  low.  level  tone 
blended  into  silence.  It  seemed  a 
thing — that  uncanny  silence  when 
noise  should  have  been. 

There  were  sounds — sounds  that  no 
one  heeded  nor  heard — the  heavy 
breathing  of  a  hundred  men  waiting 
for  something  to  happen — the  thin 
creak  of  the  table  boards  as  men 
leaned  forward  upon  hands  whose 
knuckles  whitened  under  the  red  skin, 
and  stared,  fascinated,  at  the  two  big 
men  who  faced  each  other  in  the  broad 
aisle. 

The  swinish  eyes  of  the  brutish 
man  glared  malignantly  into  the  gray 
eyes  of  the  stranger,  in  which  there 
appeared  no  slightest  flicker  of  rage 
nor  hate,  nor  any  other  emotion. 

Only  a  cold,  hard  stare  which  held 
something  of  terrible  intensity,  accen- 
tuated by  the  little  fans  of  whitening 
wrinkles  which  radiated  from  their 
corners. 

In  that  instant  the  other's  gaze  wa- 
vered. He  knew  that  this  man  had 
lied;  and  he  knew  that  every  man  in 
the  room  knew  that  he  had  lied.  That 
he  had  -deliberately  lied  into  the  row 
and  then,  without  raising  his  guard, 
had  dared  him  to  strike. 

It  was  inconceivable. 

Had  the  man  loudly  shouted  his 


THE  PROMISE. 


647 


challenge  or  thrown  up  his  guard 
when  he  dared  him  to  strike,  or  had 
his  eye  twitched  or  burned  with  anger, 
he  would  have  unhesitatingly  lunged 
into  a  fight  to  the  finish. 

But  he  found  himself  at  a  disad- 
vantage. He  was  up  against  some- 
thing he  did  not  understand.  The 
calm  assurance  of  the  stranger  —  his 
fists  were  not  doubled  and  his  lips 
smiled — disconcerted  him. 

A  strange,  prickly  chill  tingled  at 
the  back  of  his  neck,  and  in  his  heart 
he  knew  that  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  he  dared  not  strike  a  man.  He 
cast  about  craftily  to  save  his  face  and 
took  his  cue  from  the  other's  smile. 
With  an  effort  his  loose,  thick  lips 
twisted  into  a  grin. 

"  G'wan  with  yer  jokin',  stranger," 
he  laughed.  f<  Y'u  damn  near  made 
me  mad — fer  a  minute,"  and  he  turned 
to  the  table. 

Instantly  a  clatter  of  noise  broke 
forth.  Men  rattled  dishes  nervously 
in  relief  or  disappointment,  and  the 
room  was  filled  with  the  rumble  of 
voices  in  unmeaning  chatter.  But  in 
the  quick  glances  which  passed  from 
man  to  man  there  was  much  of  mean- 
ing. 

**  God,  man,  that  was  Moncrossen !  " 
whispered  Fallon,  when  the  two  found 
themselves  seated  near  the  end  of  the 
table.    Bill  smiled. 

"  Was  it?  -  he  asked.  "  I  don't  like 
him." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
A  Two-Fisted  Man. 

A HALF-HOUR   later   when  Bill 
sought  out  the  boss  in  the  little 
office,  the  latter  received  him  in 
surly  silence;  and  as  he  read  Apple- 
ton's  note  his  lip  curled. 

"  So  you  think  you'll  make  a  lum- 
ber-jack, do  you?" 

"  Yes."  There  was  no  hesitation; 
nothing  of  doubt  in  the  reply. 

"  My  crew's  full,"  the  boss  growled. 
"  I  don't  need  no  men,  let  alone  a 


greener  that  don't  know  a  peavey  from 
a  bark  spud.  YVha'd  the  old  man  send 
you  up  here  for,  anyhow  ?  " 

"  That.  I  presume,  is  his  business." 

"  Oh,  it  is,  is  it?  Well,  let  me  tell 
you  first  off  —  I'm  boss  of  this  here 
camp !  "  Moncrossen  paused  and 
glared  at  the  younger  man.  *-  You 
get  that,  do  you?  Just  you  remember 
that  what  I  say  goes,  an'  I  don't  take 
no  guff  off  en  no  man,  not  even  one  of 
the  old  man's  pets — an'  that's  my 
business — see?  " 

Bill  smiled  as  the  scowling  man 
crushed  the  note  in  his  hand  and 
slammed  it  viciously  into  the  wood- 
box. 

"  Wants  you  broke  in,  does  he?  All 
right;  I'll  break  you!  Ag'in'  spring 
you'll  know  a  little  somethin'  about 
logs,  or  you'll  be  so  damn  sick  of  the 
woods  you'll  run  every  time  you  hear 
a  log  chain  rattle;  an'  either  way, 
3'ou'll  learn  who's  boss  of  this  here 
camp." 

Moncrossen  sank  his  yellow  teeth 
into  a  thick  plug  of  tobacco  and  t>>re 
off  the  corner  with  a  jerk. 

"  Throw  yer  blankets  into  an  empty 
bunk  an'  be  ready  fer  work  in  the 
mornin'.  I'll  put  you  swampin'  fer  the 
big  Swede — I  guess  that  '11  hold  you. 
Yer  wages  is  forty-five  a  month — an' 
I'm  fight  here  to  see  that  vou  earn 
'em." 

*  Can  I  buy  blankets  here?  I 
threw  mine  away  coming  out." 

"  Comin'  out !  Comin*  in.  you 
mean !  Men  come  in  to  the  woods. 
In  the  spring  they  go  out — if  they're 
luck}'.  Get  what  you  want  over  to  the 
van;  it'll  be  charged  ag'in'  yer  wages." 
Bill  turned  toward  the  door. 

"  By  the  way,"  the  boss  grow  led, 
"what's  yer  name  —  back  where  you 
come  from  ?  " 

"  Bill." 

"  Bill  what?" 

"  No.  Just  Bill — with  a  period  for 
a  full  stop.  And  that's  my  business — 
see  ? "  As  Moncrossen  encountered 
the  level  stare  of  the  gray  eyes  he 
leered  knowingly. 


643 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


"Oh.  that's  it.  eh?  AH  right,  Bill! 
'  Curiosity  killed  the  cat.'  as  the  feller 

says.  An'  just  don't  forget  to  remem- 
ber that  what  a  man  don't  know  don't 
hurt  him  none. 

•'  Loggin'  is  learned  in  the  chop- 
pin's.  Accidents  happen*;  an'  dead 
men  tells  no  tales.  Them  that  keeps 
their  eyes  to  the  front  an'  minds  their 
own  business  gen'ally  winters  through. 
That's  all." 

Bill  WOOdejred  at  the  seemingly  ir- 
rele\ant  utterances  of  the  boss,  but  left 
the  office  without  comment. 

On  the  floor  of  the  bunk-house  Irish 
Fallon,  assisted  by  several  of  the  men, 
was  removing  the  skin  from  Diablesse, 
while  others  looked  on. 

The  awkward  hush  that  fell  upon 
them  as  he  entered  told  Bill  that  he 
had  been  the  subject  of  their  conver- 
sation. Men  glanced  at  him  covertly, 
as  though  taking  his  measure,  and  he 
soon  found  himself  relating  the  ad- 
ventures of  the  trail  to  an  apprecia- 
tive audience,  which  grinned  approval 
and  tendered  flasks,  which  he  declined. 

Later,  as  he  helped  Fallon  nail  the 
wolfskin  to  the  end  of  the  bunk-house 
he  told  him  of  the  interview  with  Mon- 
crossen.  The  Irishman  listened, 
frow  ning. 

"  Ye've  made  a  bad  shtar-rt  w  id 
um"  he  said,  shaking  his  head.  "  Ye 
eyed  'im  down  in  th'  grub  shack,  an' 
he  hates  ye  fer  ut.  How  ye  got  by 
will  ut  Oi  don't  know,  fer  he's  a 
scr-rapper  from  away  back,  an'  av  he'd 
sailed  into  ye  Oi'm  thinkin'  he'd 
knocked  th'  divil  out  av  ye,  fer  he's 
had  experience,  which  ye  ain't. 

"  But  he  didn't  dast  to,  an'  he  knows 
ut,  an'  he  knows  that  the  men  knows 
ut.  An'  now  he'll  lay  fer  a  chanst  to 
git  aven.  Ut's  th'  besht  ye  c'n  do — 
l<>ike  he  says,  kape  th'  two  eyes  av  ye 
to  th'  front  an'  moind  yer  own  busi- 
ness— only  kape  wan  eye  behint  ye  to 
look  out  "fer  throuble.  "  Phwat  fc'r  job 
did  he  give  yez?  " 

"  I  am  to  start  swamping,  whatever 
that  is.  for  the  big  Swede." 

The  Irishman  grinned. 


"  Oi  thoucht  so ;  an*  may  God  have 
mercy  on  yer  sowl." 

"  What    is   the   matter   with  the 

Swede?" 

"  Mather  enough.  Bein'  hand  an* 
glove  wid  Moncrossen  is  good  ray  son 
to  suspicion  any  man.  Fer  t'is  be  the 
help  av  Shtromberg  that  Moncrossen 
kapes  a  loine  on  th*  men  an'  gits  by 
wid  his  crooked  wor-rk. 

"  He  ain't  long  on  brains  nohow, 
Moncrossen  ain't,  an'  he  ain't  a  good 
camp-boss  nayther,  fer  all  he  gits  out 
th'  logs. 

u  Be  bluff  an'  bully  in'  he  gits  th* 
wor-rk  out  av  th'  crew  ;  but  av  ut 
wasn't  that  Misther  Appleton  lets  um 
pay  a  bit  over  goin'  wages,  he'd  have 
no  crew,  fer  th'  men  hate  um  fer  all 
they're  afraid  av  um. 

Th'  rayson  he  puts  ye  shwampin 
fer  th'  big  Swede  is  so's  he'll  kape  an 
eye  on  yez.  As  long  as  ye  do  yer 
wor-rk  an'  moind  yer  own  business 
ye'll  git  along  wid  him  as  well  as  an- 
other. But.  moind  ye.  phwin  th' 
bird's-eye  shtar-rts  movin'  ye  don't  no- 
tice nothin',  or  some  foine  avenin' 
ye'll  turn  up  missin'." 

"What  is  this  bird's-eye  thing?" 
asked  Bill.  14  What  has  it  got  to  do 
with  Moncrossen — and  me?" 

The  Irishman  considered  the  ques- 
tion and.  without  answering,  walked 
to  the  corner  of  the  bunk-house  near 
which  they  were  standing  and  peered 
into  the  black  shadow  of  the  wall.  Ap- 
parently satisfied,  he  returned  again  to 
where  Bill  was  standing. 

h  Come  on  in  th'  bunk-house,  now," 
he  said.  "  I  want  to  locate  Shtrom- 
berg an'  wan  or  two  more.  We'll  sit 
around  an'  shmoke  a  bit,  an'  phwin 
they  begin  rollin'  in  ye'll  ask  me 
phwere  is  th'  van.  fer  ye  must  have 
blankets  an'  phwat  not.  Oi'll  go  along 
to  show  ye,  an'  we'll  take  a  turn  down 
th'  tote-road  phwere  we  c'n  talk  wid- 
out  its  gittin'  to  th'  ears  av  th*  boss." 

Wondering  at  the  man's  precautions 
for  secrecy,  he  followed,  and  for  a 
half-hour  listened  to  the  fireside  gos- 
sip of  the  camp.    He  noticed  that  Fal- 


THE  PROMISE. 


049 


Ion's  glance  traveled  over  the  various 
groups  as  if  seeking  some  one,  and  he 
wondered  which  of  the  men  was 
Stromberg. 

Suddenly  the  door  was  flung  open 
and  a  huge,  yellow-bearded  man 
stamped  noisily  to  the  stove,  disre- 
garding the  curses  that  issued  from 
the  bunks  of  those  who  had  already 
turned  in. 

This  man  was  larger  even  than 
Moncrossen,  with  protruding  eyes  of 
china  blue,  which  stared  weakly  from 
beneath  heavy,  straw-colored  eyebrows. 
Two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  thought 
Bill,  as  the  man,  snorting  disagreeably, 
paused  before  him  and  fixed  him  with 
an  insolent  stare. 

"  He}',  you !  Boss  says  you  swamp 
for  me,"  he  snorted.  Bill  nodded  in- 
differently. 

"  You  know  how  to  swamp  good  ?  " 
he  asked.  Bill  studied  the  toes  of  his 
moccasins  and,  without  looking  up,  re- 
plied with  a  negative  shake  of  his  head. 

"  I  learn  you,  all  right.  In  couple 
days  you  swamp  good,  or  I  fix  you." 

Bill  looked  up,  encountered  the  wa- 
tery glare  of  the  blue  eyes,  and  re- 
turned his  gaze  to  the  points  of  his 
moccasins.  The  voice  of  the  Swede 
grew  more  aggressive.  He  snorted 
importantly  as  the  men  looked  on,  and 
smote  his  palm  with  a  ponderous  fist. 

"  First  thing.  I  duck  you  in  water- 
hole.  Then  I  slap  you  to  peak  an' 
break  off  the  peak."  The  men  snick- 
ered, and  Stromberg.  emboldened  by 
the  silence  of  his  new  swamper,  con- 
tinued : 

"  It's  time  boys  was  in  bed.  To- 
morrow I  make  you  earn  your  wages." 

Bill  rose  slowly  from  his  seat,  and 
as  he  looked  again  into  the  face  of  the 
big  Swede  his  lips  smiled.  But  Fallon 
noticed,  and  others,  that  in  the  steely 
glint  <»f  the  gray  eyes  was  no  hint  of 
smile,  and  the}'  watched  curiously 
while  he  removed  his  mackinaw  and 
tossed  it  carelessly  onto  the  edge  of  a 
near-by  bunk  from  where  it  slipped 
unnoticed  to  the  floor. 

Stromberg  produced  a  bottle,  drank 


deep,  and  returned  the  flask  to  his 
pocket.  He  rasped  the  fire  from  his 
throat  with  a  harsh,  grating  sound, 
drew  the  back  of  his  hand  across  his 
mouth,  and  kicked  contemptuously  at 
themackinaw  which  lay  almost  at  his 
feet. 

As  he  did  so  a  long,  thick  envelope, 
to  which  was  tightly  bound  the  photo- 
graph of  a  girl,  slipped  from  the  inner 
pocket.  Instantly  he  stooped  and 
seized  it. 

"Haw.  haw!"  he  roared,  "the 
greener's  got  a  woman.  Look,  she's 
a—" 

"  Drop  that !  "  The  voice  was  low, 
almost  soft  in  tone,  but  the  words  cut 
quick  and  clear,  with  no  hint  of  gen- 
tleness. 

"  Come  get  it.  greener!  "  The  man 
taunted  as  he  doubled  a  huge  fist,  and 
held  the  photograph  high  that  the 
others  might  see. 

Bill  came.  He  covered  the  inter- 
vening space  at  a  bound,  springing 
swiftly  and  straight  —  as  panthers 
spring;  and  as  his  moccasined  feet 
touched  the  floor  he  struck.  Once, 
twice,  thrice — and  all  so  quickly  that 
the  onlookers  received  no  sense  of  re- 
peated efTort. 

The  terrific  force  of  the  well-placed 
blows,  and  their  deadly  accuracy, 
seemed  to  be  consecutive  parts  of  a 
single,  continuous,  smoothly  flowing 
movement. 

In  the  tense  silence  sounds  rang 
sharp  —  the  peculiar  smack  of  living 
flesh  hard  hit.  as  the  first  blow  landed 
just  below  the  ear,  the  dull  thump  of 
a  heavy  body  blow,  and  the  clash  of 
teeth  driven  against  teeth  as  the  sag- 
ging jaw  of  the  big  Swede  snapped 
shut  to  the  impact  of  the  long  swing 
that  landed  full  on  his  chin's  point. 

The  huge  form  stiffened,  spun  half- 
way around,  and  toppled  sidewise 
against  a  rack  of  drying  garments, 
which  fell  with  a  crash  to  the  floor. 

Without  so  much  as  a  glance  at  the 
ludicrously  sprawled  figure,  Bill  picked 
up  his  mackinaw  and  returned  the  en- 
velope to  the  pocket. 


650 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


"  Irish,"  he  asked,  "  where  is  the 
van?  1  must  get  some  blankets.  My 
nurse,  there,  says  it's  time  to  turn  in." 

*•  Oi'll  go  wid  ye."  said  Fallon,  and 
a  roar  fcf  laughter  followed  them  out 
into  the  night. 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
"  BirdVEye  "  and  Philosophy. 

BILL  quickly  made  his  purchases, 
and  shouldering  the  roll  of  blan- 
kets. t'«-llowed  Irish  to  the  head 

of  a  rollway,  where  the  two  seated 
themselves  on  the  bunk  of  a  log  sled. 

1  Oi  don't  know  how  ye  done  ut," 
Fallon  began.  M  'Twas  th'  handiest 
bit  av  two-fisted  wor-rk  Oi  iver  see'd. 
*Tis  well  ye've  had  ut  out  wid  Shtrom- 
berg. 

"  Fer  all  his  cro«  »kedness.  he's  a 
liether  man  thin  th'  boss,  an*  he'll  not 
be  layin   that  lickin'  up  again  yez. 
Twas  a  f eight  av  his  own  pickin',  an' 
he  knows  ye've  got  him  faded. 

"  A ven  av  he  w'ud  of  befoor,  he'll 
see  to  ut  that  no  har-rm  comes  to  ye 
now  t'rough  fault  av  his  own,  fer  well 
he  knows  the  men  'ud  think  'twas  done 
to  pay  ye  back,  an'  he'll  have  no  wish 
to  play  th'  title  role  at  a  hangin'. 

<  From  now  on,  'tis  only  Moncros- 
sen  ye'll  have  to  watch,  fer  ye're  in 
good  wid  th'  men.  We  undershtand 
}  e  now.  Ye  see,  in  th'  woods  we  don't 
loike  myshtery  an',  whiles  we  most  av 
us  know  that  Moncrossen's  givin'  Ap- 
pleton  th'  double-cross,  '(is  none  av 
0%a  business,  an'  phwin  we  thoucht 
ye'd  come  into  th'  woods  undhcr  false 
pretinces  to  catch  urn  at  ut,  they  was 
more  or  less  talk. 

"  Mesilf  was  beginnin'  to  think  ye'd 
come  into  th'  woods  fer  th'  rist  cure, 
ye  read  about  in  th'  papers,  seein'  ye'd 
loafed  about  fer  maybe  it's  foive  hours 
an'  done  nothin'  besides  carve  up  th' 
werwolf  an'  her  pack,  eye  down  th* 
l>oss  in  his  own  grub-shack,  an'  thin 
top  off  th'  avenin'  be  knockin'  th'  big 
Swede  cold,  which  some  claims  he  c'ud 
put  th'  boss  himself  to  th'  brush,  wunst 


he  got  shtar-rted.  Btit  now  we  know 
phy  ye're  here.    We're  pr-rond  ye're 

wan  av  us." 

"What  do  you  mean  —  you  know 
why  I  am  here?  I  am  here  because  I 
needed  a  job,  and  Appleton  hired  me." 

"  Sure.  lad.  But,  ye  moind  th*  pic- 
ture in  ver  pocket.  'Twas  a  woman.*' 

N  But—" 

a  'Tis  none  av  our  business,  an'  'tis 
nayther  here  nor  there.  Av  there's  a 
woman  at  th'  bottom  av  ut,  'tis  rayson 
enough — phwativer  happens." 

Bill  laughed. 

"  You  were  going  to  tell  me  about 
the  bird's-eye."  he  reminded. 

"  Ut's  loike  this :  Here  an'  yon  m 
th'  timber  there's  a  bird's-eye  tree — 
bird's-eye  maple,  ye  know.  Tis  scarce 
enough,  wid  only  a  tree  now  an'  agin, 
an'  ut  takes  an  expert  to  spot  ut. 

"  Well,  th'  bird's-eye  brings  around 
a  hundred  dollars  a  thousan',  an'  divil 
a  bit  av  ut  gits  to  Appleton's  mills. 

"  "Moncrossen's  got  a  gang  — 
Shtromberg's  in  ut,  an'  a  Frinch  cruis- 
er named  Lebolt.  an'  a  boot-leggin' 
tree-spotter  named  Creed,  that  lives  in 
Hilarity,  an'  a  couple  av  worthless  div- 
ils  av  sawyers  that's  too  lazy  fer  hon- 
est wor-rk,  but  camps  t'rough  th'  win- 
ter, trappin'  an  sawin'  bird's-eye  an' 
calico  ash  on  other  men's  land. 

"  Shtromberg  '11  skid  till  along  to- 
ward shpring  phwin  he'll  go  to  teamin'. 
Be  that  toime  th'  bird's-eye  logs  '11  be 
down,  here  an'  there  in  th'  woods  be- 
yant  th'  shoppin's.  an'  Shtromberg  'II 
haul  urn  an'  bank  urn  on  some  river; 
thin  in  th'  summer.  Moncrossen  an' 
his  men  'II  slip  up.  toggle  um  to  light 
logs  so  they  '11  float,  an'  raft  um  to  th' 
railroad  phwere  there'll  be  a  buyer 
from  th'  Fastem  vaneer  mills  waitin'. 

w  Ut's  a  crooked  game,  shtealin'  Ap- 
pleton's logs,  an*  haulin'  um  wid  Ap- 
pleton's teams,  an'  drawin'  Appleton's 
wages  fer  doin'  ut. 

"  Now.  bechune  man  an'  man,  th' 
big  Swede's  th'  brains  av  th'  gang. 
He's  a  whole  lot  shmar-rter'n  phwat 
he  lets  on.  Such  ain't  th'  natnre  av 
men.  but  'tis  th'  way  av  women." 


THE  PROMISE. 


651 


Irish  thoughtfully  tamped  his  pipe- 
bowl,  and  the  flare  of  the  match  be- 
tween his  cupped  palms  brought  out 
his  honest  features  distinctly  in  the 
darkness.  Bill  felt  a  strong  liking  for 
this  homely  philosopher,  and  he  lis- 
tened as  the  other  eyed  him  knowingly 
and  continued : 

"  Tis  be  experience  we  lear-rn.  An' 
th'  sooner  a  man  lear-rns,  th'  bether 
ut  is  fer  urn,  that  all  women  know 
more  thin  they  let  on — an'  they've  al- 
ways an  ace  fer  a  whole  car-rd  bekase 
av  ut. 

"  Fer  women  run  men,  an'  men  poli- 
tics, an'  politics  armies,  an'  armies  th' 
wor-rld — an'  at  th'  bottom  av  ut  all  is 
tli'  wisdom  an'  schemin'  av  women. 

"  Phwin  a  man  fools  a  woman,  he's 
a  fool — fer  she  ain't  fooled  at  all.  But, 
she  ain't  fool  enough  to  let  on  she  ain't 
fooled,  fer  well  she  knows  that  as  long 
as  she  knows  more  thin  he  thinks  she 
knows,  she  holds  th'  edge — an'  th' 
divil  av  ut  is,  she  does. 

"  Take  a  man,  now  ;  phwin  ye  know 
urn,  ye  know  urn.  He's  always  will  in' 
to  admit  he's  as  shmar-rt  as  he  is,  or  a 
damn  soight  shmar-rter,  which  don't 
fool  no  wan,  fer  'tis  phwat  they  expect. 

"  A  man  c'n  brag  an"  lie  about 
phwat  he  knows,  an'  phwere  he's  been, 
an'  phwat  he's  done;  an'  noine  toimes 
out  av  tin,  ye  cud  trust  him  to  th'  inds 
av  th'  earth  wid  ye're  lasht  dollar. 

"  But  wanst  let  um  go  out  av  his 
way  to  belittle  himsilf  an'  phwat  he 
knows,  an'  Oi  w'udn't  trust  him  wid  a 
bent  penny  as  far  as  Oi  cud  t'row  a 
bull  be  th'  tail — fer  'tis  done  wid  a  pur- 
pose.   'Tis  so  wid  Shtromberg." 

Fallon  arose,  consulted  his  watch, 
and  led  the  way  toward  the  bunk- 
house. 

"  So  now  ye  know  fer  phwy  Mon- 
crossen  hates  ye,"  he  continued.  "  He 
knows  ye're  a  greener  in  th'  woods, 
but  he  knows  be  this  toime  ye' 11  be  a 
har-rd  man  to  handle,  an'  he  fears  ye. 
Oi've  put  ye  wise  to  th'  bird's-eye 
game  so  ye  c'n  steer  clear  av  ut,  an' 
not  be  gittin'  mixed  up  in  ut  wan  way 
or  another." 


"  I  am  much  obliged,  Fallon,  for 
what  you  have  told  me,"  replied  Bill 
quietly;  "  but  inasmuch  as  I  am  work- 
ing for  Appleton,  I  will  just  make  it 
my  business  to  look  after  his  interests 
in  whatever  way  possible.  I  guess  I 
will  take  a  hand  in  the  bird's-eye  game 
myself.  I  am  not  afraid  of  Moncros- 
sen  and  his  gang  of  thieves.  Anyway, 
I  will  give  them  a  run  for  their 
money." 

Fallon  shrugged. 

"  D'ye  know.  Oi  thoucht  ye'd  say 
that.  Well,  'tis  ye're  own  funeral. 
'  Tell  in'  ye  about  me,  Oi  ain't  lost  no 
bird's-eye  trees,  mesilf,  but  av  ye  need 
help —  Be  th'  way,  th'  bunk  above 
mine's  empty;  ye  moight  t'row  ye're 
blankets  in  there." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
A  Frame-Up. 

IN  the  days  that  followed  Bill  threw 
himself  into  the  work  with  a  vigor 
that  won  the  approval  of  the  men. 
A'  "  top  "  lumber  crew  is  a  smooth- 
running  machine  of  nice  balance  whose 
working  unit?  are  interdependent  one 
upon  another  for  efficiency.  One 
shirking  or  inexperienced  man  may 
appreciably  curtail  the  output  of  an 
entire  camp  and  breed  discontent  and 
dissatisfaction  among  the  crew.  But 
with  Bill  there  was  no  soldiering.  He 
performed  a  man's  wrork  from  the 
start — awkwardly  at  first,  but,  with  the 
mastery  of  detail  acquired  under  the 
able  tutelage  of  Stromberg,  he  became 
known  as  the  best  swamper  on  the  job. 

Between  him  and  the  big  Swede  ex- 
isted a  condition  of  armed  neutrality. 
Neither  ever  referred  to  the  incident 
of  the  bunk-house,  nor  did  either  show 
hint  of  ill-feeling  toward  the  other. 
The  efficiency  of  each  depended  upon 
the  efforts  of  the  other,  and  neither 
found  cause  for  complaint. 

With  the  crew  working  to  capacity 
to  supply  Appleton's  demand  for  ten 
million  feet  of  logs,  there  was  little 
time  for  recreation.    Nevertheless,  Bill 


652 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY, 


bought  a  pair  of  snow-shoes  from  a 
passing  Indian  and,  in  spite  of  rough 
weather  and  aching  muscles,  utilized 
stormy  days  and  moonlight  nights  in 
perfecting  himself  in  their  use. 

He  and  Fallon  had  become  great 
chums  and.  contrary  to  the  Irishman's 
prediction,  instead  of  hectoring  the 
new  man,  Mmicrossen  left  him  severe- 
ly alone. 

And  so  the  routine  ot  the  camp  went 
on  until  well  into  February.  The 
clearing  widened,  the  timber  line  re- 
ceded, and  tier  upon  tier  of  logs  was 
pyramided  opofl  the  railways.  As  yet 
Bill  had  made  no  progress — formu- 
lated no  definite  plan  for  the  detection 
and  ultimate  exposure  of  the  gang  of 
bird's-eye  thieves. 

Occasionally  men  put  up  at  the  camp 
f.  r  a  short  stay.  Creed  and  Lebolt 
were  the  most  frequent  visitors,  but 
neither  gave  evidence  of  being  other 
than  he  appeared  to  be — Creed  a 
hunter  seeking  to  dispose  of  venison 
taken  out  of  season,  and  Lebolt  a  com- 
pany cruiser  engaged  in  estimating 
timber  to  the  northward. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Bad 
Luck,  that  gaunt  specter  that  lurks 
unseen  in  the  shadows  and  hovers  over 
the  little  lives  of  men  lor  the  working 
of  harm,  swooped  down  upon  the  camp 
and  in  a  series  of  untoward  happenings 
impaired  its  efficiency  and  impregnated 
the  atmosphere  with  the  blight  of  dis- 
content. 

An  unprecedented  thaw  set  in, 
ruining  the  skidways  and  reducing  the 
snow  of  the  forest  to  a  sodden  slush 
that  chilled  men  to  the  bone  as  they 
floundered  heavily  about  their  work. 

Reed  and  Kantochy,  two  sawyers, 
were  caught  by  a  "  kick-back."  One 
of  the  best  horses  was  sweenied.  A 
teamster  who  fell  asleep  on  the  top 
of  his  load  awoke  in  the  bottom  of  a 
ravine  with  a  shattered  arm.  a  dead 
horse,  and  a  ruined  log-sled.  Bill's 
foot  was  mashed  by  a  rolling  log:  and 
last,  and  most  far-reaching  in  its  ef- 
fect, the  cook  contracted  spotted  fever 
and  died  in  a  reverse  curve. 


Moncrossen  raged.  From  a  steady 
eighty  thousand  feet  a  day  the  output 
dropped  to  seventy,  sixty,  fifty  thou- 
sand— and  the  end  was  not  in  sight. 
Good-natured-banter  and  friendly  tus- 
sles among  the  men  gave  place  to 
surly  bickering  and  ugly  fist-fighting, 
and  in  spite  of  the  best  efforts  of  the 
second  cook  the  crew  growled  sullenly 
or  openly  cursed  the  grub. 

Then  it  was  that  Moncrossen  knew 
that  something  must  be  done — and  that 
something  <|iiickly.  He  shifted  Strom- 
berg  and  Fallon  to  the  sawing  crew, 
made  a  skidder  out  of  a  swamper,  and 
filled  his  place  with  a  grub-shack 
flunky. 

Then  one  afternoon  he  dropped  in 
upon  Bill  in  the  bunk-house,  where 
that  young  man  sat  fuming  at  his  in- 
action with  his  foot  propped  up  on  the 
edge  of  a  bunk. 

"How's  the  foot?"  growled  the 
boss. 

"  Pretty  sore."  answered  Bill,  laying 
aside  a  magazine.  u  Swelling  is  going 
down  a  bit." 

"  Ever  handle  horses?" 

"  Yes.  a  few." 

The  boss  cleared  his  throat  and  pro- 
ceeded awkwardly. 

"  I  don't  like  to  ask  no  crippled  man 
to  work  before  he's  able."  he  began 
grudgingly.  "  But  things  is  goin'  bad. 
What  with  them  two  pilgrims  that 
called  thcirselves  sawyers  not  bcin' 
able  to  dodge  a  kickback,  an'  Gibson 
pickin'  a  down -hill  pull  on  an  iced 
skidway  for  to  go  to  sleep  on  his  load, 
an'  your  gettin'  pinched,  an'  the  cook 
eurlin'  up  an'  dyin*  on  us.  an'  the  whole 
damned  outfit  roarin'  about  the  grub, 
there's  hell  to  pay  all  around." 

He  paused  and.  receiving  no  answer, 
shot  a  crafty  look  at  the  man  before 
him. 

"  Now.  if  you  was  able,"  he  went 
on.  "  you  c'd  take  the  tote-sled  down 
to  Hilarity  an'  fetch  us  a  cook.  It 
seems  like  that's  the  onliest  way; 
there  ain't  nary  'nother  man  I  c'n  spare 
— an'  he's  a  good  cook,  old  Daddy 
Dunnigan  is,  if  he'll  come.    He*s  a  in- 


THE  PROMISE. 


653 


dependent  old  cuss — work  if  he  damn 
good  an'  feels  like  it,  an'  if  he  don't 
lie  won't. 

"If  you  think  you  c'n  tackle  it,  I'll 
have  the  blacksmith  whittle  you  out  a 
crutch,  an'  you  c'n  take  that  long- 
geared  tote  team  an'  make  Hilarity  in 
two  days.  They's  double  time  in  it  for 
you,"  he  added,  as  a  matter  of  special 
inducement. 

Bill  did  not  hesitate  over  his  deci- 
sion. 

"All  right;  I  think  I  can  manage," 
he  said.    "  When  do  I  start  ?  " 

"  The  team  '11  be  ready  early  in  the 
mornin'.  If  you  start  about  four 
o'clock  you  c'n  make  Melton's  old 
No.  8  Camp  by  night  without  crowd- 
in'  'em  too  hard.  It's  the  first  one  of 
them  old  camps  you  strike,  and  you  c'n 
stable  the  horses  without  unharnessin' ; 
just  slip  off  the  bridles  an'  feed  "em." 

Bill  nodded.  At  the  door  Mou- 
crossen  halted  and  glanced  at  him 
peculiarly. 

"  I'm  obliged  to  you,"  he  said.  "  For 
a  greener,  you've  made  a  good  hand. 
I'll  have  things  got  ready." 

Bill  was  surprised  that  the  boss  had 
paid  him  even  this  grudging  compli- 
ment, and  as  he  sat  beside  the  big  stove, 
puzzled  over  the  peculiar  glance  that 
had  accompanied  it. 

In  a  few  minutes,  however,  he  dis- 
missed the  matter  and  turned  again  to 
his  six  months  old  magazine.  Could 
he  have  followed  Moncrosscn  and 
overheard  the  hurried  conversation 
which  took  place  in  the  little  office,  he 
would  have  found  food  for  further 
reflection,  but  of  this  he  remained  in 
ignorance;  and,  all  unknown  to  him, 
a  man  left  the  office,  slipped  swiftly 
and  noiselessly  into  the  forest,  and 
headed  southward. 

"  'Tis  a  foine  va-acation  ye're  havin' 
playin'  nurse  fer  a  pinched  toe,  an'  me 
teariu'  out  th'  bone  fer  to  git  out  th' 
logs  on  salt  -  horse  an'  dough  -  gods  't 
w'd  sink  a  battle-ship.  'Tis  a  lucky 
divil  ye  ar-re  altogither,"  railed  Fallon 
good-naturedly  as  he  returned  from 
supper   and    found    Bill   engaged  in 


the  task  of  swashing  arnica  on  his 
bruised  foot. 

Oh,  I  don't  know.  I'll  be  back  in 
the  game  to-morrow." 

"To-morry!"  exclaimed  Irish, 
eying  the  swollen  and  discolored  mem- 
ber with  a  grin.  11  Yis ;  ut  '11  be  to- 
morry,  all  right.  But  'tis  a  shame  to 
waste  so  much  toime.  Av  ye  c'd  git 
th'  boss  to  put  ye  on  noight  shift  icin' 
th'  skidways,  ye  wudn't  have  to  wait 
so  long." 

"  It's  a  fact,  Irish,"  laughed  Bill. 
"  I  go  on  at  4  a.m.  to-morrow." 

"  Fure  a.m.,  is  ut?  An'  phwat  '11 
ye  be  doin'?  Peelin'  praties  fer  that 
dommed  pisener  in  th'  kitchen.  Ye've 
only  been  laid  up  t'ree  days  an'  talk 
av  goin'  to  wor-rk.  Man !  Av  Oi  was 
lucky  enough  to  git  squose  loike  that. 
Oi'd  make  ut  lasht  a  month  av  Oi  had 
to  pour  ink  on  me  foot  to  kape  up  th' 
color." 

"  I'm  going  to  Hilarity  for  a  cook." 
insisted  Bill.  "  Monerossen  says  there 
is  a  real  one  down  there — Daddy  Dun- 
nigan,  he  called  him." 

"  Sure.  Dunnigan  '11  not  come  into 
th'  woods.  An'  phy  shud  he?  Wid 
money  in  th'  bank,  an'  her  majesty's — 
Oi  mane,  his  nibs's  pension  comin'  in 
ivery  month,  an'  his  insides  broke  into 
Hod  Burrage's  whisky  —  phwat  more 
c'd  a  man  want  ?  " 

"  The  boss  thinks  maybe  he'll  come. 
Anyway.  I  am  going  after  him." 

Ye  shud  av  tow  Id  urn  to  go  to 
hell !  Wor-rkin'  a  man  wid  a  foot 
loike  that  is  croolty  to  animals;  av  ye 
was  a  harse  he'd  be  arrested." 

"  He  didn't  tell  me  to  go.  Pie  is 
crowded  for  men;  the  grub  is  rotten; 
something  has  to  be  done;  and  he 
asked  me  if  I  thought  I  could  make  it." 

Irish  pulled  thoughtfully  at  his  pipe, 
and  slowly  his  brows  drew  together  in 
a  frown. 

"  He  said  ye  c'd  make  ut  in  two 
days  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Yes.  The  tote  road  is  well  bro- 
ken, and  forty  miles  traveling  light 
with  that  rang)'  team  is  not  such  an 
awful  pull." 


654 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


**  An'  he  towkl  ve  phwere  to  camp. 
It'll  be  Melton's  awld  No,  8,  where  ye 
camped  com  in*  in  ?  , 

n  Yes." 

Fallon  nodded  thoughtfully,  and 
Hill  w.-nclcrcd  what  was  passing  in  his 
mind.  For  a  long  time  he  was  silent, 
and  the  injured  man  responded  to  the 
heart v  greetings  and  inquiries  of  the 

men  returning  from  the  grub  shack. 

When  these  later  had  disposed  them- 
selves for  the  evening,  the  Irishman 
bundled  his  chair  closer  to  the  bunk 
Upon  which  Bill  was  sitting. 

MAt  Melton's  No.  8,  Oi  moind. 
th'  shtables  is  a  good  bit  av  a  way 
from  th*  rist  av  th'  buildin's,  an'  hid 
from  soight  be  a  knowl  av  ground." 

M  1  don't  remember  the  stables,  but 
they  can't  be  very  far;  they  are  in  the 
clearing,  and  Mcncrosscn  had  the 
blacksmith  make  me  a  crutch." 

•'  A  crutch,  is  ut?  A  crutch!  Well, 
a  man  ud  play  hell  makin'  foorty 
modes  on  a  crutch  in  th'  winter — no 
mather  how  good  th'  thrail  was 
broke." 

44  Forty  miles!  Look  here.  Irish — 
what  are  you  talking  about?  I  thought 
y<  mr  bottle  had  been  empty  for  a 
week." 

"  Impty  ut  is — which  me  head  ain't. 
Listen  :  S'posin' — just  s'posin'.  moind 
yez  Oi'm  savin'  —  a  man  wid  a  bum 
leg  was  camped  in  th'  shack  av  Mel- 
ton's No.  8,  an'  th'  harses  in  th' 
shtable.  An'  s'posin'  some  one 
shnaked  in  in  th'  noight  an'  stole  th' 
harses  on  um  an'  druv  'cm  to  Hilarity, 
an*  waited  f'r  th'  boss  to  sind  f'r  'em. 

"  An'  s'posin'  a  wake  wint  by  be- 
toor  th'  boss  c'd  sind  a  man  down  to 
look  up  tli"  team  he'd  sint  f'r  a  cook, 
wid  orders  to  hurry  back.  An' 
s'posin"  he  found  th'  bum-legged  driver 
froze  shtiff  ..n  th'  tote  road  phwere 
he'd  made  out  to  hobble  a  few  modes 
"ii  his  crutch — phwat  thin? 

"  W  hy,  th'  man  was  a  greener,  an', 
not  knowin'  how  to  handle  th'  team, 
they'd  got  away  from  um." 

Bill  followed  the  Irishman  closely, 
and  knew  that  he  spoke  with  a  pur- 


pose. His  eyes  narrowed,  and  his  lips 
bent  into  that  cold  smile  which  the 
men  of  the  camp  had  come  to  know 
was  no  smile  at  all,  but  a  battle  alarum, 

the  more  ominous  for  its  silence. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  it  is  a  frame- 
up?  That  Moncrossen — "  Fallon  si- 
lenced him  with  a  motion. 

"  Whist !  "  he  whispered  and 
glanced  sharply  about  him,  then  leaned 
over  and  dug  a  stiffened  forefinger  into 
the  other's  ribs.  41  Oi  don't  mane 
nothin*.  But  'tis  about  toime  they  be- 
gun bankin'  their  bird's-eye. 

"  Creed  et  dinner  in  camp,  but  he 
never  et  supper.  Him  an'  th'  boss 
made  medicine  in  th'  office  afther  th' 
boss  talked  to  ye.  Put  two  an'  two 
togither  an'  Oi've  towld  ye  nothin'  at 
all;  but  av  ye  fergit  ut  Oi'H  see  that 
phwat  th'  wolves  lave  av  th'  bum- 
legged  teamster  is  buried  proper  an' 
buried  deep,  an'  Oi'Il  blow  in  tin  dol- 
lars f'r  a  mass  f'r  his  sowl. 

"  Av  ye  don't  fergit  ut.  ye  moight 
fetch  back  a  gallon  jug  av  Hod  Bur- 
rage's  embalmin'  flooid,  f'r  me  in- 
wards is  that  petrified  be  th'  grub 
we've  been  bavin'  av  late,  they  moight 
mishtake  ut  f'r  rale  liquor.  Good-by, 
an'  good  luck — 'tis  toime  to  roll  in." 

CHAPTER  XX. 
A  Fire  in  the  Night. 

THE  sledding  was  good  on  the  tote- 
road. 

The  thaw  that  ruined  the  iced 
surface  of  the  sideways  was  followed 
by  several  days  of  freezing  weather 
that  put  a  hard,  smooth  finish  on  the 
deep  snow  of  the  longer  road,  over 
which  the  runners  of  the  box-bodied 
tote-sled  slipped  with  scarcely  any  re- 
sistance to  the  pull  of  the  sharp-shod 
team. 

Bill  Carmody,  snugly  bundled  in 
robes  in  the  bottom  of  the  sled,  idly 
watched  the  panorama  of  tree-trunks 
between  which  the  road  twisted  in  an 
endless  succession  of  tortuous  wind- 
ings. 


It  VI 

fv»ntn1f» 


THE  PROMISE. 


655 


It  was  not  yet  daylight  when  he 
rounded  the  bend  which  was  the  scene 
of  his  fight  with  the  were-wolf. 

But  by  the  thin,  cold  starlight  and 
the  pale  luminosity  of  the  fading  .au- 
rora, he  recognized  each  surrounding 
detail,  and  wondered  at  the  accuracy 
with  which  the  trivialities  of  the  set- 
ting had  been  subconsciously  impressed 
upon  his  memory. 

It  was  here  he  had  first  met  Fallon, 
and  he  remembered  the  undisguised 
approval  in  the  Irishman's  voice  and  the 
firm  grip  of  the  hand  that  welcomed 
him  into  the  comradery  of  the  North- 
men as  he  stood,  faint  from  hunger 
and  weary  from  exertion,  staring  dully 
down  at  the  misshapen  carcass  of 
Diablesse. 

"  Good  old  Irish."  he  muttered,  and 
smiled  as  he  thought  of  himself,  Rill 
Carmody.  proud  of  the  friendship  of  a 
lumber-jack. 

He  had  come  to  know  that  in  the 
ceaseless  whirl  of  society  the  heavier 
timbers — the  real  men  are  thrown 
outward — forced  to  the  very  edges  of 
the  bowl,  where  they  toil  among  big 
things  upon  the  outskirts  of  civiliza- 
tion. 

He  pulled  off  his  heavy  mitten  and 
fumbled  for  his  pipe.  In  the  side- 
pocket  of  his  mackinaw  his  hand  en- 
countered an  object — hard  and  cold 
and  unfamiliar  to  his  touch. 

He  withdrew  it  and  looked  at  the 
wicked,  blue-black  outlines  of  an  auto- 
matic pistol.  Idly  he  examined  the 
clip,  crowded  with  shiny,  yellow  cart- 
recognized  the  gun  as 
smiled  as  he  returned  it 


ridges.  He 
Fallon's,  and 
to  his  pocket. 

"Only  in 
grinned,  and 


case  of  a  pinch."  he 
glanced  approvingly  at 
the  fist  that  doubled  hard  to  the  strong 
clinch  of  his  fingers. 

Hour  after  hour  he  slipped  smoothly 
southward,  relieving  the  monotony  of 
the  journey  by  formulating  his  plan 
of  action  in  case  the  forebodings  of 
Fallon  should  be  realized. 

Personally  he  apprehended  no 
trouble,  but  he  made  up  his  mind  that 


trouble  coming  should  not  find  him  un- 
prepared 

When  at  last  the  team  swung  into 
the  clearing  of  Melton's  old  Number 
Eight,  the  stars  winked  in  cold  bril- 
liance above  the  surrounding  pines,  and 
the  deserted  buildings  stood  lifeless 
and  dim  in  the  deepening  gloom. 

Bill  headed  the  horses  for  the  stable 
which  he  found,  as  Irish  had  told  him, 
located  at  some  distance  from  the  other 
buildings  and  cut  off  from  sight  by  a 
knoll  and  a  heavy  tangle  of  scrub  that 
had  sprung  up  in  the  clearing. 

He  climbed  stiffly  and  painfully  from 
the  sled-box,  and  with  the  aid  of  his 
crutch,  hobbled  about  the  task  of  un- 
hitching the  horses.  He  watered  them 
where  a  plume  of  thin  vapor  dis- 
closed the  whereabouts  of  a  never- 
freezing  spring  which  burbled  softly 
between  its  low.  ice-encrusted  banks. 

It  proved  a  difficult  matter,  crippled 
as  he  was,  to  handle  the  horses,  but  at 
length  he  got  them  into  the  stable, 
chinked  the  broken  feed-boxes  as  best 
he  could,  and  removed  the  bridles, 
hanging  them  upon  the  names. 

He  closed  the  door  and,  securing 
his  lantern,  blankets,  and  lunch-basket, 
made  his  way  toward  the  old  shack 
where  he  spent  his  first  night  in  the 
timber  land. 

The  sagging  door  swung  half  open, 
and  upon  the  rough  floor  the  snow- 
water from  the  recent  thaw  had  collect- 
ed in  puddles  and  frozen,  rendering 
the  footing  precarious. 

Bill  noted  with  satisfaction  that 
there  still  remained  a  goodly  portion 
of  the  firewood  which  he  had  cut  and 
carried  in  upon  his  previous  visit,  and 
he  soon  had  a  fire  roaring  in  the  rusty 
stove. 

He  was  in  no  hurry.  He  knew  that 
any  attempt  to  make  away  with  the 
team  would  be  delayed  until  the  thief 
believed  him  to  be  asleep,  and  his  plans 
were  laid  to  the  minutest  detail. 

Setting  the  lantern  upon  the  table, 
he  proceeded  to  eat  his  lunch,  after 
which  he  lighted  his  pipe  and  for  an 
hour  smoked  at  the  fireside.    In  spite 


666 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


of  the  pain  of  his  Injured  fool  his 
mind  wandered  back  to  the  events  of 
his  first  visit  to  the  shack. 

There,  in  the  black  shadow  of  the 
pile  of  firewood,  lay  the  empty  whisky- 
bottle  where  the  Indian  had  tossed  it 
after  drinking  the  last  drop  of  its  con- 
tents. . 

Carmodv  stared  a  long  time  at  this 
Silent  reminder  of  his  first  serious 
brush  with  King  Alcohol,  then,  from 
the  inner  pocket  of  his  mackinaw,  he 
drew  the  sealed  packet  and  gazed  for 
many  minutes  at  the  likeness  of  the 
girl^-dimming  now  from  the  rub  of 
the  coarse  cloth  of  the  pocket. 

Suddenly  a  great  longing  came  over 
him — a  longing  to  see  this  girl,  to  hear 
the  soft  accents  of  her  voice  and.  above 
all.  to  tell  her  of  his  great  love  for  her. 
that  in  all  the  world  there  was  no 
woman  but  her.  and  that  each  day,  and 
a  hundred  times  each  day,  her  dear 
face  was  before  his  eyes,  and  in  his 
ears,  ringing  above  the  mighty  sounds 
..f  a  falling  forest,  was  the  soft,  sweet 
sound  of  her  voice. 

He  could  not  speak  to  her.  but  she 
could  speak  to  him.  even  if  it  was  but 
a  repetition  of  the  words  of  the  letters 
he  already  knew  by  heart,  but  which 
had  remained  sealed  in  the  envelope 
ever  since  the  day  he  bid  farewell  to 
Broadway — and  to  her. 

His  fingers  fumbled  at  the  flap  of 
the  heavy  envelope.  He  could  at  least 
feast  his  eyes  upon  the  lines  traced  by 
her  pen  and  press  his  lips  to  the  page 
where  her  little  hand  had  rested. 

His  foot  throbbed  with  dull  persist- 
ence. He  was  conscious  of  being 
tired,  but  he  must  not  sleep  this  night. 
Rough  work  possibly,  at  any  rate,  a 
man's  work,  awaited  him  there  in  the 
gloom  of  the  silent  clearing. 

Again  his  eye  sought  the  whisky- 
bottle  and  held.  His  fingers  ceased  to 
toy  with  the  flap,  for  in  that  moment 
the  thought  came  to  him  that  had  the 
bottle  not  been  empty,  had  it  been  filled 
with  liquor — strong  liquor — with  the 
pain  in  his  foot  and  the  stiffness  of 
his  tired  muscles  and  the  work  ahead 


• — well,  he  might — for  the  oM  desire 
was  strong  upon  him— he  might  take 

a  drink. 

"  Not  yet,"  he  muttered,  and  re- 
turned the  packet  to  his  pocket  un- 
opened. u  I  told  her  I  would  beat  the 
game.  I've  bucked  old  John  Barley- 
corn's line  and  scored  a  touchdown; 
the  hardest  of  the  fighting  is  past,  bat 
there  is  just  a  chance  that  I  might  miss 
goal." 

Bill  looked  at  his  watch;  it  was  eight 
o'clock.  He  stood  up,  wincing  as  his 
injured  foot  touched  the  floor,  and 
hobbled  across  the  room  where  he 
wrenched  a  rough,  split  shelf  from  the 
wall.  This,  together  with  some  sticks 
of  firewood,  he  rolled  in  a  blanket, 
placing  it  near  the  stove.  He  added 
more  w  ood  until  the  bundle  was  about 
the  size  and  shape  of  a  man,  and 
covered  it  with  his  other  two  blankets. 
Filling  the  broken  stove  with  wood,  he 
blew  out  the  lantern  and  limped  silently 
out  into  the  night. 

Two  hours  later  Creed,  bird's-eye 
spotter  and  bad  man  of  the  worn-out 
little  town  of  Hilarity,  knocked  the 
ashes  from  his  pipe  and  held  a  glowing 
brand  to  the  dial  of  his  watch. 

44  The  greener  should  be  asleep  by 
now-,"  he  muttered,  and,  rolling  his 
blanket,  kicked  snow  over  the  rem- 
nant of  his  camp-fire,  picked  up  his 
rifle,  and  ascended  the  steep  side  of  a 
deep  ravine  lying  some  two  hundred 
yards  to  the  westward  of  the  clearing 
where  Bill  Carmodv  had  encamped 
for  the  night. 

After  leaving  Moncrossen's  office 
on  the  previous  afternoon  he  had 
traveled  all  night,  and  reached  Melton's 
old  Number  Eight  in  the  early  mor- 
ning. 

All  day  he  had  slept  by  the  side  of 
his  fire  in  the  bottom  of  the  ravine, 
and  in  the  evening  had  lain  in  the 
cover  of  the  scrub  and  watched  the 
greener  stable  the  horses  and  limp  to 
the  deserted  shack. 

At  heart  Creed  was  a  craven,  a 
bullying  swashbuckler,  who  bragged 
and  blustered  among  the  rheumy-eyed 


THE  PROMISE. 


C57 


down-and-outers  who  nightly  fore- 
gathered about  Burrage's  stove,  but 
who  was  servile  and  cringing  as  a 
starved  puppy  toward  Moncrossen  and 
Stromberg,  who  openly  despised  him. 

They  made  good  use  of  his  ability 
to  "  spot  n  a  bird's-eye  tree  as  far  as 
he  could  see  one,  however,  an  ability 
shared  by  few  woodsmen,  and  which 
in  Creed  amounted  almost  to  genius. 

The  man  had  never  been  known  to 
turn  his  hand  to  honest  work,  but  as 
a  timber  pirate  and  pedler  of  rotgut 
whisky  among  the  Indians,  he  had 
arisen  to  comparative  affluence. 

His  hate  for  the  greener  was  abys- 
mal and  unreasoning,  and  had  been 
carefully  fostered  by  Moncrossen  who, 
instinctively  fearing  that  the  new  man 
would  eventually  expose  his  nefarious 
double-dealing  with  his  employer,  re- 
alized that  at  the  proper  time  Creed 
could  be  induced  to  do  away  with  the 
greener  under  circumstances  that  would 
leave  him,  Moncrossen,  free  from  sus- 
picion. 

In  the  framing  of  Bill  Carmody, 
Stromberg  had  no  part.  Moncrossen 
could  not  fathom  the  big  Swede,  upon 
whose  judgment  and  acumen  he  had 
come  to  rely  in  the  matter  of  handling 
and  disposing  of  the  stolen  timber. 

Several  times  during  the  winter  he 
had  tentatively  broached  plans  and  in- 
sinuated means  whereby  the  Swede 
could  "  accidentally "  remove  his 
swamper  from  their  path. 

The  reversing  of  a  hook  which 
would  cause  a  log  to  roll  just  at  the 
right  time  on  a  hillside ;  the  filing  of 
a  link;  the  snapping  of  a  weakened 
bunk-pin,  any  one  of  these  common  ac- 
cidents would  render  them  safe  from 
possible  interference. 

Rut  to  all  these  suggestions  Strom- 
berg turned  a  deaf  ear.  The  boss  even 
taunted  him  with  the  knock-out  he  had 
received  at  the  hands  of  the  greener. 

"  That's  all  right,  Moncrossen,"  he 
replied ;  "  I  picked  the  fight  purpose  to 
beat  him  up.  It  didn't  work.  He's  a 
Ijetter  man  than  me — or  you  either — 
an'  you  know  it.    Only  he  had  to  lick 

6  A-S 


me  to  prove  it.  He  chilled  your  heart 
with  a  look  an'  a  grin — an'  the  whole 

crew  lookhr  on. 

"  But  beatin'  up  a  man  is  one  thing 
an'  murder  is  another.  Appleton's 
rich,  besides  he's  a  softwood  man  an' 
ain"t  fixed  for  handlin'  veneer,  so  I 
might's  well  get  in  on  the  bird's-eye 
as  let  you  an'  Creed  an'  Lebolt  steal  it 
all. 

"  But  I  ain't  got  to  the  point  where 
I'd  murder  a  good  man  to  cover  up 
my  dirty  tracks — an'  I  never  will!  " 

^nd  so,  without  consulting  Strom- 
berg. Moncrossen  bided  his  time  and 
laid  his  plans.  And  now  the  time  had 
come.  The  plan  had  been  gone  over 
in  detail  in  the  little  office,  and  Creed 
in  the  edge  of  the  timber  stood  ready 
to  carry  it  out. 

Stealthily  he  slipped  into  the  dense 
shadows  of  the  scrub  and  made  his 
way  toward  the  shack  where  a  thin 
banner  of  smoke,  shot  with  an  occa- 
sional yellow  spark,  floated  from  the 
dilapidated  stovepipe  that  protruded 
from  the  roof. 

The  hard  crust  rendered  snow-slmes 
unnecessary,  and  his  soft  moccasins 
made  no  sound  upon  the  surface  of 
the  snow. 

Gaining  the  side  of  the  shack,  he 
peered  between  the  unchinked  logs. 
The  play  of  the  firelight  that  shone 
through  the  holes  of  the  broken  stove 
sent  flickering  shadows  dancing  over 
the  floor  and  walls  of  the  rough  in- 
terior. 

Near  the  fire,  stretched  long  and 
silent  beneath  its  blankets,  lay  the 
form  of  a  man.  Creed  shifted  his 
position  for  a  better  view  of  the 
sleeper.  His  foot  caught  in  the  loop 
of  a  piece  of  discarded  wire  whose 
ends  were  firmly  frozen  into  the  snow, 
and  he  crashed  heavily  backward  into 
a  pile  of  dry  brush  wood. 

It  seemed  to  the  frightened  man  as 
if  the  accompanying  noise  must  wake 
the  dead.  He  lay  for  a  moment  where 
he  had  fallen,  listening  for  sounds 
from  within.  He  clutched  his  rifle 
nervously,  but   the  deathlike  silence 


668 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


was  unbroken  save  for  his  own  heavy 
breathing  and  the  tiny  snapping  of 
the  fire  in  the  stove. 

Cautiously  he  extricated  himself 
from  the  brush-heap,  his  heart  pound- 
ing wildly  at  the  snapping  of  each  dry 
twii;.  It  was  incredible  that  the  man 
could  sleep  through  such  a  racket  in 
a  country  where  life  and  death  may 
hang  upon  the  rustle  of  a  leaf. 

But  the  silence  remained  unbroken, 
and,  after  what  seemed  to  the  cower- 
ing man  an  eternity  of  expectant 
waiting,  he  crawled  again  to  the  wall 
and  glanced  furtively  into  the  interior. 
The  form  by  the  tire  was  motionless 
as  before — it  had  not  stirred. 

Then,  as  he  looked,  a  ray  of  fire- 
light fell  upon  the  white  label  of  the 
black  whisky  bottle  that  lay  an  easy 
arm's  reach  from  the  head  of  the 
sleeper.  A  smile  of  comprehension 
twisted  the  lips  of  his  evil  face  as  he 
leered  through  the  crevice  at  the  help- 
less form  by  the  fireside. 

"  Soused  to  the  guards,"  he  sneered. 
"  an'  me  with  ten  years  scairt  off  en 
my  life  fer  fear  I'd  wake  him."  He 
stood  erect  and,  with  no  attempt  at 
the  stealth  with  which  he  had  ap- 
proached the  shack,  proceeded  rapidly 
in  the  direction  of  the  stable. 

It  was  but  the  work  of  a  few  mo- 
ments to  bridle  the  horses,  lead  them 
out.  and  hitch  them  to  the  sled. 

Tossing  the  horse  -  blankets  on  top 
of  the  big  tarpaulin  which  lay  in  the 
rear  of  the  sled-box  ready  for  use  in 
the  covering  of  supplier,  be  settled 
himself  in  front  and  pulled  the  robes 
about  him. 

He  turned  the  team  slowly  onto  the 
tpte  -  road  and  glanced  again  toward 
the  shack.  A  spark,  larger  than  the 
others,  shot  out  of  the  stovepipe  and 
lodged  upon  the  bark  mot",  where  it 
glowed  for  a  moment  before  going 
out.  The  man  watched  it  in  sudden 
fascination. 

He  halted  the  team  and  stared  long 
at  the  spot  where  the  spark  had  van- 
ished in  blackness,  but  which  in  the 
brain  of  the  man  appeared  as  an  ever- 


widening  circle  of  red.  which  spread 
until  it  included  the  whole  roof  in  its 
fiery  embrace,  and  crept  slowly  down 

the  log  walls. 

So  realistic  was  the  picture  that  he 
seemed  to  hear  the  crackle  and  roar 
of  the  leaping  flames.  He  drew  a 
trembling  hand  across  his  eyes,  and 
w  hen  lie  looked  again  the  shack  stood 
silent  and  black  in  the  half  light  of 
the  starlit  clearing. 

"God!"  he  mumbled  aloud.  "If 
it  had  only  happened  thataway — " 
He  passed  his  tongue  over  his  dry, 
thick  lips.  "Why  not?"  he  ar- 
gued querulously.  "  Moncrossen  said 
'twa'n't  safe  to  bushwhack  him  like  I 
wanted  to — said  how  I  ain't  got  nerve 
nor  brains  to  stand  no  investigation. 

"But  if  he'd  git  burnt  up  in  the 
shack,  that's  safer  yet.  He  got  that 
booze  somewhere  —  some  one  knows 
he  had  it.  He  got  spiflicated,  built  a 
roarin'  fire  in  the  old  stove — an*  there 
y'are.  plain  as  daylight.  No  brains! 
I'll  show  him  who's  got  brains  — 
an"  there  won't  be  no  investigation, 
neither." 

He  drew  the  team  to  the  side  of 
the  tote-road  and,  slipping  the  halters 
over  the  bridles,  tied  them  to  a  stout 
sapling  and  made  his  way  toward  the 

shack. 

One  look  satisfied  him  that  the 
sleeper  had  not  stirred,  and  noiseless- 
ly he  slipped  the  heavy  hasp  of  the 
door  over  the  staple  and  secured  it 
with  the  wooden  pin. 

He  collected  dry  branches,  piling 
them  directly  beneath  the  small,  square 
Window  which  yawned  high  in  the 
wall.  Higher  and  higher  the  pile 
grew  until  its  top  was  almost  on  a 
level  with  the  sill. 

His  hands  trembled  as  he  applied  the 
match.  Tiny  tongues  of  flame  strug- 
gled upward  through  the  branches, 
lengthening  and  widening  as  fresh 
twigs  ignited,  and  in  his  ears  the 
crackle  and  snap  of  the  dry  wood 
sounded  as  the  rattle  of  musketry. 

His  first  impulse  as  the  flames  gained 
headway  was  to  fly — to  place  distance 


between  himself  and  the  scene  of  his 
crime.  But  he  dared  not  go.  His 
knees  shook,  and  he  stared  with 
lilanched  face  in  horrid  fascination  as 
the  flames  roared  and  crackled  through 
the  brushwood. 

They  were  curling  about  the  win- 
dow now,  and  the  whole  clearing  was 
light  as  day.  He  slunk  around  the 
corner  and  gained  the  shadow  of  the 
opposite  wall.  Fearfully  he  applied 
his  eye  to  a  crevice — the  form  by  the 
stove  had  not  moved. 

The  air  of  the  interior  was  heavy 
with  smoke,  and  tiny  flames  were  eat- 
ing their  way  between  the  logs.  The 
smoke  thickened,  blurring  and  blotting 
out  the  prostrate  figure.  He  glanced 
across  at  the  window.  Its  aperture 
was  a  solid  sheet  of  flame  —  he  was 
safe! 

With  a  low,  animal-like  cry  Creed 
sprang  away  and  dashed  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  team.  With  shaking  fin- 
gers he  clawed  at  the  knots  and  slipped 
the  halters. 

Leaping  into  the  sled,  he  grabbed 
up  the  lines  and  headed  the  horses 
southward  at  a  run.  Behind  him  the 
sky  reddened  as  the  flames  licked  hun- 
grily at  the  dry  logs  of  the  shack. 

"  It's  his  own  fault !  It's  his  own 
fault ! "  he  mumbled  over  and  over 
again.  "  Serves  him  right  fer  gittin' 
soused  an'  buildin'  up  a  big  fire  in  a 
busted  stove.  'Twasn't  no  fault  of 
his  that  spark  didn't  catch  the  roof. 
Serves  him  right!  Maybe  it  did  catch 
— maybe  it  did.  'Tain't  my  fault  no- 
how —  it  must  'a'  caught  —  I  seen  it 
thataway  so  plain!  Oh,  my  God!  Oh, 
my  God."  he  babbled,  11  if  they  git  to 
ask  in'  me! 

Tt  was  thisaway,  mister;  yes,  sir; 
listen :  I  was  camped  in  the  ravine, 
an'  all  to  wunst  I  seen  the  flare  of  the 
lire  an'  I  run  over  there ;  but  'twas  too 
late — the  roof  had  fell  in  an'  the  pore 
feller  must  'a'  been  cooked  alive.  It 
was  tumble,  mister — tumble  ! 

**  An'  I  run  an'  hitched  up  the  team 
an'  druv  to  Hilarity  hell  bent  fer  a 
potlatch — that's  the  way  of  it — s'elp 


me  God  it  is!  If  you  don't  brieve  it 
ask  Moncrossen  —  ask  Moncrosscn,  I 
mean,  if  he  didn't  have  no  booze  along 
—  he  must  'a'  been  drunk  —  an'  him 
crippled  thataway! 

"Oh,  Lordy,  Lordy!  I  ain't  sup- 
posed to  know  it  was  the  greener,  let 
alone  he  was  crippled!  I'm  all  mixed 
up  a'ready!  They  better  not  go  askin* 
me  questions  lessen  they  want  to  git 
me  hung  —  Goda'mi'ty !  I'd  Oft  to 
done  like  Moncrossen  said!" 

So  he  raved  in  a  frenzy  of  terror 
as  the  horses  sped  southward  at  a  pace 
that  sent  the  steam  rising  in  clouds 
from  their  heaving  sides. 

And  under  the  big  tarpaulin  in  the 
rear  of  the  sled-box  the  greener 
grinned  as  he  listened,  and  eyed  the 
gibbering  man  through  a  narrow  slit 
in  the  heavy  canvas. 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
Daddy  Dunnigan. 

IT  was  broad  daylight  when  Creed 
pulled  the  team  up  before  a  tum- 
bled-down  stable  in  the  rear  of  one 
of  the  outstraggling  cabins  at  the  end 
of  Hilarity's  single  street.  Hastily  he 
unhitched  and  led  the  horses  through 
the  door. 

As  he  disappeared  Bill  slipped  from 
under  the  canvas  and  limped  stiffly 
around  the  corner  of  the  stable,  and 
none  too  soon,  for  as  Creed  returned 
to  the  sled  for  the  oats  and  blankets 
the  cabin  door  opened,  and  a  tall,  an- 
gular woman  appeared,  carrying  an 
empty  waler-pail. 

"  So  ye've  come  back,  hev  3-e?  "  she 
inquired  in  a  shrewish  voice.  "  Well, 
ye're  jest  in  time  to  fetch  the  water 
an'  wood.  Where  d'ye  git  that  rig?" 
she  added  sharply,  eying  the  sled. 

"  None  o*  yer  damn  business !  An' 
you  hurry  up  an'  cook  breakfast  ag'in' 
I  git  back  from  Burrage's,  er  I'll  rig 
you !  " 

"  Yeh.  is  that  so?  Jest  you  lay  a 
finger  on  me,  you  damn  timber-thiev- 
in'  boot-legger,  an'  I'll  bust  you  one 


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ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


over  the  head  with  the  peaked  end  of 
a  flat  iron!  Wliere  ye  gom  ter  hide 
when  the  owner  of  then  team  comes 
a  lumtin'  ol  W?    Ha,  ha.  ha!  " 

"Shet  up!"  growled  the  man  so 
shortly  that  the  woman,  eying  him 
narrowly,  turned  toward  the  rickety 
pump,  which  burbled  and  wheezed  as 
she  worked  the  handle,  tilling  the  pail 
in  spasmodic  splashes. 

*•  One  of  Moncrossen's  teamsters 
got  burnt  up  in  the  shack  at  Melton's 
No.  8.  an'  I  found  the  team  in  the 
stable  an'  druv  'em  in."  he  vouchsafed 
as  he  brushed  by  the  woman  on  his 
way  to  the  street.  "  'Twouldn't  look 
right  if  I  shet  up  about  it;  I'll  be  back 
when  I  tell  Bur  rage." 

"  Fetch  some  bacon  with  ye,"  called 
the  woman  as  she  filled  her  dirty 
apn>n  with  chips.  She  paused  before 
lifting  the  pail  from  the  spout  of  the 
wooden  pump  and  gazed  speculatively 
at  the  tote-sled. 

"  He's  lyin',"  she  said  aloud.  "  He's 
Up  to  some  fresh  devilment,  an'  'pears 
like  he's  scairt.  Trouble  with  Creed 
is.  he  ain't  got  no  nerve  —  he's  all 
mouth.  I  sure  was  hard  up  fer  a  man 
when  I  tuk  him  —  but  he  treats  me 
middlin'  kind,  an'  I'd  kind  of  hate  to 
see  him  git  caught  —  'cause  he  ain't 
no  good  a  liar,  an'  a  man  anyways 
smart  'd  mix  him  up  in  a  minit." 

She  lifted  the  pail  and  pushed 
through  the  door  of  the  cabin. 

"  Nice  people,"  muttered  Bill  as  he 
ta  t  about  for  an  exit. 

Keeping  the  stable  in  line  with  the 
Window  of  the  cabin,  he  made  his 
way  through  a  litter  of  tin  cans  and 
rubbish,  gaming  the  shelter  of  the 
scrub,  where  he  bent  a  course  parallel 
with  the  street. 

He  was  stiff  and  sore  from  his 
cramped  position  in  the  sled,  and  his 
foot  pained  sharply.  His  progress 
was  slow,  and  he  paused  to  rest  on 
the  edge  of  a  small  clearing,  in  the 
center  of  which,  well  back  from  the 
highway,  stood  a  tiny  cabin. 

In  the  doorway  an  old  man,  with  a 
short  cutty -pipe   between   his  lips, 


•leaned  upon  a  crutch  and  surveyed  the 
sky  with  weatherwise  eyes. 

Bill  instantly  recognized  him  as  the 
old  man  with  the  twisted  leg  who  ten- 
dered the  well-meant  advice  upon  the 
night  of  his  first  arrival  in  the  little 
town,  and  his  face  reddened  as  he  re- 
membered the  supercilious  disregard 
with  which  he  had  received  it. 

For  a  moment  he  hesitated,  then  ad- 
vanced toward  the  door.  The  old  man 
removed  his  cutty-pipe  and  regarded 
him  curiously. 

"  Good  morning !  "  called  Bill  with 
just  a  shade  of  embarrassment. 

"Good  marnin*  yersilf!"  grinned 
the  other,  a  twinkle  in  his  little  eyes. 

"  May  I  ask  where  I  will  find  a  man 
called  Daddy  Dunnigan?" 

"  In  about  foive  minutes  ye'll  foind 
um  atein'  break  fust  wid  a  shtrappin* 
young  hearty  wid  a  sore  fut.  Come 
an  in.  Oi'm  me  own  housekaper, 
cook,  an'  bottle-washer;  but,  av  Oi  do 
say  ut  mesilf,  Oi've  seen  wor-rse!" 

".So  you  are  Daddy  Dunnigan?" 
asked  Bill  as  he  gazed  hungrily  upon 
the  steaming  saucers  of  oatmeal,  the 
sizzling  ham,  and  the  yellow  globes  of 
fresh  eggs  fried  "  sunny  side  up." 

"  Ye'll  take  a  wee  nip  befoor  ye 
eat  ?  "  asked  his  host,  reaching  to  the 
chimney-shelf  for  a  squat,  black  bottle. 

"  No,  thanks,"  smiled  Bill.  "  I  don't 
use  it." 

"  Me,  nayther."  replied  the  other 
with  a  chuckle;  "  Oi  misuse  ut."  and, 
pouring  himself  a  good  half  tin  cup- 
ful, swallowed  it  neat  at  a  gulp. 

The  meal  over,  the  men  lighted  their 
pipes,  and  Bill  broached  the  object  of 
his  visit.  The  old  man  listened  and, 
when  Bill  finished,  spat  reflectively 
into  the  wood-box. 

"  So  Ruck  Moncrossen  situ  ye  afther 
me,  did  he?  " 

"  Yes.  He  said  you  were  a  good 
cook,  and  1  can  certainly  bear  him  out 
in  that:  but  he  said  that  you  would 
only  work  if  you  damn  good  and  felt 
like  it,  and  if  you  didn't  you  wouldn't." 
The  old  man  grinned. 

"  He's  roight  agin,  an'  Oi'll  be  tell- 


THE  PROMISE. 


661 


in'  ye  now  Oi  damn  good  an'  don't 
feel  loike  wor-rkin'  f'r  Moncrossen, 
th'  dirthy  pirate,  takin'  a  man's  pay 
wid  wan  hand  an'  shtealin'  his  timber 
wid  th'  other.  He'd  cut  th'  throat 
av  his  own  mither  f'r  th'  price  av 
a  dhrink. 

"  An'  did  he  sind  ye  down  afoot  an' 
expict  me  to  shtroll  back  wi'  ye,  th' 
both  av  us  on  crutches  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  a  team  here,"  laughed 
Bill.    "  They  are  in  Creed's  stable." 

"Creed's!"  The  old  man  glanced 
at  him  sharply.  "  Phwat  ar-re  they 
doin'  at  Creed's?  " 

"  Well,  that  is  a  long  story ;  but  it 
sums  up  about  like  this :  I  see  you 
know  Moncrossen  —  so  do  I.  And 
Moncrossen  is  afraid  I  will  crab  his 
bird's-eye  game — and  I  will,  too,  when 
the  proper  time  comes. 

u  But  he  saw  a  chance  to  get  rid  of 
me,  so  he  sent  me  after  you,  probably 
knowing  that  you  would  not  come; 
but  it  offered  an  excuse  to  get  me 
where  he  wanted  me.  Then  he  framed 
it  up  with  Creed  to  steal  the  team  in 
the  night  while  I  was  camped  at  Mel- 
ton's No.  8,  and  leave  me  to  die 
bushed. 

"  I  built  a  fire  in  the  shack,  ate  my 
supper,  rigged  up  a  dummy  near  the 
fire,  and  then  went  out  to  the  sled  and 
crawled  under  the  tarp.  After  making 
sure  that  I  was  asleep  Creed  stole  the 
team  as  per  schedule,  but  he  did  not 
stop  at  that.  He  decided  to  make 
sure  of  me,  so  he  locked  the  door  on 
the  outside  and  fired  the  shack, 

"  I  remained  under  the  tarp,  and  as 
Creed  was  going  my  way  I  let  him  do 
the  driving.  While  he  put  up  the  team 
I  slipped  out  the  back  way,  and  here 
I  am." 

"Th'  dirthy,  murdherin'  hound!" 
exclaimed  the  old  man,  chuckling  and 
weaving  his  body  from  side  to  side  in 
evident  enjoyment  of  the  tale. 

"  An'  phwat' 11  ye  do  wid  urn  now 
ye're  here?"  The  old  man  sat  erect 
and  stared  into  the  face  of  his  guest, 
whose  eyes  had  narrowed  and  whose 
lips  had  curved  into  an  icy  smile. 


"  First,  I'll  give  him  the  damnedest 
licking  with  my  two  fists  that  he  ever 
got  in  his  life;  then  I'll  turn  him  over 
to  the  authorities." 

JDaddy  Dunnigan  leaned  forward 
and,  laying  a  gnarled  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  shook  him  roughly  in  his 
excitement : 

14  Yer  nameb  b'y?  Phwat  is  yer 
name?''  His  voice  quavered,  and  the 
little  eyes  glittered  between  the  red- 
rimmed  lids,  bright  as  an  eagle's.  The 
younger  man  was  astonished  at  his 
excitement. 

"  Why,  Bill,"  he  replied. 

"  Bill  or  Moike  or  Pat  —  wurrah  ! 
Oi  mane  yer  rale  name  —  th'  whole 
av  ut? " 

"  That  I  have  not  told.  I  am  called 
Bill." 

"  Lord  av  hiven!  I  thocht  ut  th' 
fir-rst  toime  Oi  seen  ye — but  now ! 
Man  !  B'y  !  Wid  thim  eyes  an'  that 
shmile  on  yer  face,  d'ye  think  ye  c'd 
fool  owld  Daddy  Dunnigan,  that  was 
fir  -  rst  corp'l  t'rough  two  campaigns 
an'  a  scourge  av  peace  f'r  Captain 
Fronte  McKim? 

"  Who  lucked  afther  urn  loike  a 
brother — an'  loved  urn  more — an'  who 
fought  an'  swore  an'  laughed  an' 
dhrank  wid  um  t'rough  all  th'  plague- 
ridden  counthry  from  Kashmir  to  th' 
say  —  an'  who  wropped  um  in  his 
blanket  f'r  th'  lasht  toime  an'  helped 
hurry  um  wid  his  eyes  open — f'r  he'd 
wished  ut  so  —  on  th'  long,  brown 
slope  av  a  rock-pocked  Punjab  hill, 
ranged  round  tin  deep  wid  th'  dead 
naygers  av  Hira  Kal?  " 

Bill  stared  at  the  man  wide-eyed. 

"Fronte  McKim?"  he  cried. 

"  Aye,  Fronte  McKim !  As  sh'u'd  V 
been  gineral  av  all  Oirland.  England, 
an'  Injia.  Av  he'd  'a'  been  let  go  he'd 
licked  th'  naygers  fir-rst  an'  diplomat- 
ed  phwhat  was  lift  av  um.  He'd 
made  um  shwim  oft  th'  field  to  kape 
from  dliroundin'  in  their  own  blood — 
an'  kep'  'em  good  aftherward  wid  th* 
buckle  ind  av  a  surcingle. 

"  My  toime  was  up  phwin  he  was 
.kilt,  an'  Oi  quit.    F'r  Oi  niver  'listed 


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ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


to  rot  in  barracks.  Oi  wint  back  to 
Kerry  an'  told  his  inither.  th'  pale, 
sad  Lady  Constance — God  risi  her 
sowl! — that  sint  foor  b'ys  to  th'  wars 
that  niver  come  back  —  an'  wud  sint 
foor  more  if  she'd  had  'cm. 

"  She  give  me  char-rge  av  th'  uwld 
eshtate,  wid  th"  big  house,  an  th'  lawn 
as  wide  an'  as  grane  as  th'  angel  pas- 
tures av  hiven — an'  little  Eily — his 
sisther — th*  purtiest  gur-rl  owld  Oir- 
land  i\er  bred,  who  was  niver  tired 
av  listhenin*  to  tales  av  her  big  brother. 

"  Oi  shtayed  till  th*  Lady  Constance 
died,  an'  little  Eily  married  a  rich 
man  from  Noo  Yor-rk — Car-rson,  or 
meby  Carmen,  his  name  was;  an'  he 
carried  her  off  to  Amur-rica.  Twas 
not  th'  same  in  Kerry  afther  that,  an' 
Oi  slit  rayed  from  th'  gold  -  camps  av 
Australia  to  th'  woods  av  Canada." 

The  far-away  look  that  had  crept 
into  the  old  man's  eyes  vanished,  and 
his  voice  became  gruff  and  hard. 

u  Oi've  hear-rd  av  yer  doin's  in  th' 
timber — av  yer  killin*  th*  werwolf  in 
th'  midst  av  her  pack — av  yer  lickin' 
Moncrossen  wid  a  luk  an'  a  grin- — av 
yer  knockin'  out  Shtromberg  wid  t'ree 
blows  av  yer  fisht. 

Ye  might  carry  th'  name  av  a  Noo 
York  money-grubber,  but  yer  hear-rt 
is  th'  hear-rt  av  a  foightin'  McKim — 
an'  yer  eyes,  an'  that  smile — th'  Mc- 
Kim smile — that's  as  much  a  laugh  as 
th'  growl  av  a  grizzly — an'  more  dan- 
gerous thin  a  cocked  gun." 

The  old  man  paused  and  filled  his 
pipe,  muttering  and  chuckling  to  him- 
self. Bill  grasped  his  hand,  wringing 
it  in  .a  mighty  grip. 

"  You  have  guessed  it."  he  said 
huskily.  "  My  name  does  not  matter. 
I  am  a  McKim.  She  was  my  mother 
— Eily  McKim — and  she  used  to  tell 
me  of  my  uncle — and  of  you."' 

"  Did  she.  now?  Did  she  remember 
me?"  he  exclaimed.  "God  bless  th' 
little  gur-rl.  An'  she  is  dead  ?  "  Rill 
nodded,  and  Daddy  Dunnigan  drew 
a  coarse  sleeve  across  his  eyes  and 
puffed  hard  at  his  short  pipe. 

"  And  will  you  go  back   with  me 


and  work  the  rest  of  the  winter  for 

Moncrossen  ?  " 

The  old  man  remained  so  long  that 
Hill  thought  he  had  not  heard.  He 
was  about  to  repeat  the  question  when 
the  other  laid  a  hand  upon  his  knee. 

"  Oi  don't  have  to  wor-rk  f'r  no 
man.  an'  Oi'U  not  wor-rk  f'r  Mon- 
crossen. But  Oi'd  cross  hell  on  thin 
ice  in  July  to  folly  a  McKim  wanst 
more,  an'  if  to  do  ut  Oi  must  cook  f'r 
Appleton's  camp,  thin  so  ut  is.  Git 
ye  some  shleep  now  whilst  Oi  loaf 
down  to  Burrage's." 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
Creed  Sees  a  Ghost. 

WHEN"  Bill  awoke,  yellow  lamp- 
light flooded  the  room  and 
Daddy  Dunnigan  was  busy 
about  the  stove,  from  the  direction  of 
which  came  a  cheerful  sizzling  and  the 
appetizing  odor  of  frying  meat  and 
strong  coffee. 

For  several  minutes  he  lay  in  a  de- 
licious drowse,  idly  watching  the  old 
man  as  he  hobbled  deftly  from  stove 
to  cupboard,  and  from  cupboard  to 
table. 

So  this  was  the  man.  he  mused,  of 
whom  his  mother  had  so  often  spoken 
when,  as  a  little  boy,  he  had  listened 
with  bated  breath  to  her  tales  of  the 
fighting  McKims. 

He  remembered  how  her  soft  eyes 
would  glow,  and  her  lips  curve  with 
pride  as  she  recounted  the  deeds  of 
her  warrior  kin. 

But.  most  of  all,  she  loved  to  tell  of 
Captain  Fronte,  the  big.  fighting, 
devil-may-care  brother  who  was  her 
childish  idol:  and  of  one,  James  Dun- 
nigan. the  corporal  who  had  followed 
Captain  Fronte  through  all  the  wars, 
and  to  w  hose  coolness  and  courage  her 
soldier  brother  owed  his  life  on  more 
than  one  occasion,  and  whose  devotion 
and  loyalty  to  the  name  of  McKim  was 
a  byword  throughout  the  regiment, 
and  in  Kerry. 

And  now.  thought  Bill,  that  I  have 


THE  PROMISE. 


€63 


found  him,  I  will  never  lose  sight  of 
him.  He  needs  some  one  to  look  after 
him  in  his  old  age. 

Over  the  little  flat-topped  stove  the 
leathern  old  world-rover  muttered  and 
chuckled  to  himself  as  he  prodded  a 
fork  into  the  browning  pork-chops, 
shooting  now  and  then  an  affectionate 
glance  toward  the  bunk. 

"  Saints  be  praised !  "  he  muttered. 
"  Oi'd  av  know'd  urn  in  hiven  or  hell, 
or  Hong-Kong.  Captain  Fronte's  own 
silf,  he  is,  as  loike  as  two  peas.  An' 
the  age  av  Captain  Fronte  befure  he 
was  kilt,  phwin  he  was  tlr  besht  offi- 
cer in  all  th'  British  ar-rmy — or  an-ny 
ar-rmy. 

"  Him  that  c'd  lay  down  th'  naygers 
in  windrows  all  day,  an'  dhrink,  an' 
play  car-rds,  an'  make  love  all  noight 
— an'  at  'em  agin  in  th'  marnin' !  An' 
now  Oi've  found  urn  Oi'll  shtay  by  um 
till  wan  av  us  burries  th'  other.  For 
whilst  a  McKim  roams  th'  earth. 
James  Dunnigan's  place  is  to  folly  um. 

"  An',  Lord  be  praised,  he's  a 
foighthv  man  —  but  a  McKim  that 
don't  dhrink!  Wurrah!  Maybe  he 
wasn't  failin'  roight,  or  th'  liquor 
didn't  look  good  enough  fer  um.  Oi'll 
thry  u m  agin.'' 

Bill  threw  off  the  blankets  and  sat 
upon  the  edge  of  the  bunk. 

"  That  grub  smells  good,  Daddy," 
he  sniffed. 

"  Aye,  an'  'twill  tashtc  good,  too,  av 
ye  fly  at  ut  befure  ut  gits  cold.  Ye've 
had  shleep  enough  fer  two  min — Cap- 
tain Fronte'd  git  along  fer  wakes  at  a 
toime  on  foorty  winks  in  th'  saddle." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  will  have  a  hard  time 
living  up  to  Captain  Fronte's  stand- 
ard." laughed  Bill,  as  he  adjusted  his 
bandages. 

"  Well,  thin,  Oi'll  tell  yez  th'  fir-rst 
thing  Captain  Fronte'd  done  phwin 
his  two  feet  hit  th'  Mure :  he'd  roar  fer 
a  dhrink  av  good  liquor. 

'*  An'  thin  he'd  ate  a  dozen  or  two 
av'  ihim  pork-chops,  an'  wash  'em 
down  wid  a  gallon  av  black  coffee — 
an'  he'd  be  roight  fer  an-nything  from 
a   carouse    wid    th'    brown  dancin' 


Nautch  gir-rls,  to  a  brush  in  th'  hills 
wid  their  fightin'  brown  brothers. 

"  Th'  liquor's  waitin' — ut  moightn't 
be  as  good  as  ye're  used,  but  Oi've 
seen  Captain  Fronte  himself  shmack 
his  lips  over  worse.  An'  as  fer  th'  tin 
cup — he'd  dhrink  from  a  batthered  to- 
maty  can  or  a  lady's  shlipper,  an'  rasp 
th  dhregs  from  his  t'roat  wid  a  cur-rse 
or  a  song,  as  besht  fitted  th'  toime  or 
th'  place  he  was  in." 

The  old  man  began  to  pour  out  the 
liquor :  "  Say  phwin,''  he  cried,  H  an' 
Oi've  yit  to  see  th'  McKim  'twud 
hurry  th'  wor-rd." 

Bill  crossed  to  the  old  man,  who, 
propped  against  the  table,  watched  the 
contents  of  the  bottle  gurgle  and  splash 
into  the  huge  tin  cup,  and  laid  a  hand 
upon  his  arm. 

"  That  will  do.  Daddy,"  he  said. 

The  man  ceased  to  pour  and  peered 
inquisitively  into  the  cup.  11  'Tain't 
half  full  yit!  "  he  protested,  passing  it 
to  Bill,  who  set  it  before  him  upon  the 
table,  where  the  rich  fumes  reached  his 
nostrils  as  he  spoke: 

"  This  whisky,"  he  began,  "  smells 
good — plenty  good  enough  for  any 
man.  But,  you  don't  seem  to  under- 
stand. I  don't  drink  whisky  —  good 
whisky,  or  bad  whisky,  or  old  whisky, 
or  new  whrsky,  or  red,  white,  and  blue 
whisky — or  any  other  kind  of  booze. 

"  1  have  drunk  it  —  bottles  of  it  — 
kegs  of  it — barrels  of  it,  T  suppose,  for 
I  played  the  game  from  Harlem  to  the 
Battery.    And  then  I  quit." 

"  Ye  ain't  tell  in'  me  ye're  timper- 
ence?"  The  old  man  inquired  with 
concern  as  he  would  have  inquired 
after  an  ailment. 

"  No ;  that  is,  if  you  mean  am  I  one 
of  those  who  would  vote  the  world  so- 
ber by  prohibiting  the  sale  of  liquor. 
It  is  a  personal  question  which  every 
man  must  meet  squarely — for  himself 
— not  for  his  .neighbor. 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  whisky.  I  am 
not  opposed  to  it.  as  an  issue.  In  fact, 
I  respect  it.  for,  personally,  it  has  given 
me  one  peach  of  a  scrap — and  we  are 
quits." 


6G4 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


The  old  man  listened  with  interest. 

"  Ye  c'n  no  more  Wane  a  McKim 
from  foightin'  thin  ye  c'n  kape  a  da- 
coit  from  stavlin."  he  chuckled.  "  So 
ye  tur-med  in  an'  give  th'  crayther 
himsilf  a  ioight— an  ye  win  ut?  An' 
phwat  does  th*  gir-rl  think  av  Ut  I  " 

"  What !  n 

"  Tli'  gir-rl.  Is  she  proud  av  ye? 
Or  is  she  wan  av  thim  that  thinks  ut 
ai.-y  to  quit  be  just  lavin'  ut  alone? 
F. -r,  -uro.  at  niver  intered  th*  head  av 
man  —  let  alone  a  McKim,  to  tur-rn 
agin'  liquor,  lessen  they  was  a  gir-rl  at 
th*  bottom  av  ut. 

'■  An'  phwin  ar-re  ye  goin'  to  he 
marrit?  For.  av  she's  proud  av  ye. 
ye'll  marry  her — but  av  she  takes  ut 
as  a  mat  her  av  coorse — let  some  wan 
ilse  git  stung." 

Bill  regarded  the  old  man  sharply, 
but  in  his  bearing  was  no  hint  of  jest- 
ing nor  raillery,  and  the  little  eyes 
were  serious. 

"  Yes,  there  zcas  a  girl,"  said  Bill 
slowly:  "  but  she — she  does  not  know." 

"  So  ye've  had  a  scrap  wid  her,  too! 
But.  teil  me,  ye  didn't  run  away  from 
ut — ye're  goin'  back  ?  "  Bill  made  no 
reply,  and  the  old  man  conveyed  the 
food  to  the  table,  muttering  to  himself 
the  while: 

"  Sure  they's  more  foightin'  goin' 
on  thin  Oi  iver  thought  to  see  agin. 
Ut  ain't  rid  war,  but  ut  ain't  so 
bad  —  werwolves,  Moncrossen,  booze, 
Creed,  a  bit  av  a  gir-rl  somewheres, 
Shtromberg  —  th'  wnr-rld  is  growin' 
bether  afther  all,  an'  Oi'm  goin'  to  be 
in  th*  thick  av  ut!  " 

Supper  oyer,  Bill  donned  mack  maw. 
cap,  and  mittens. 

"  Phwere  ye  goin'?"  asked  Dunni- 
gan. 

"  To  find  Creed." 

"Wait  a  bit.  'tis  early  vit.  In  half 
an'  hour  he'll  be  clost"  around  Bur- 
rage's  shtove.  tell  in*  th'  b'ys  about  th' 
bur-rut  shack  at  Melton's.'" 

Bill  resumed  his  chair. 

"  Oi've  been  thinkin*  ut  out,"  con- 
tinued Daddy  between  short  puffs  at 
his  cutty  pipe.    "Ye'll  have  no  fun 


lit. kin*  Creed— *'tis  shmall  satisfaction 
foightin*  a  man  that  won't  foight  back. 
An-nyhow,  a  black  eye  or  a  bloody 
nose  is  soon  minded.  An'  av  ye  tur-rn 
lira  over  to  th'  authorities  ye  ain't  got 
much  on  urn,  an'  ye  can't  pr-rove 
phwat  ye  have  got. 

"  But  listen :  Creed's  a  dhrivlin'  job- 
bernowl that  orders  his  comin's  be  th' 
hang  av  th'  moon,  an*  his  goin's  be  th* 
dhreams  av  his  head.  He  thinks  ye're 
dead.  Now.  av  ye  shtroll  into  Bur- 
rages  loike  nothin'  out  av  th'  oordi- 
nary  has  happened,  he'll  think  ye're  a 
ghost — an'  th'  fear  in  his  heart  will 
shtay  by  um. 

"  Oi'll  loaf  down  there  now,  same 
as  iverv  noight.  In  about  a  half  an 
hour  ye'll  come  limpin'  in  an'  ask  fer 
Dunnigan.  an'  will  he  cook  out  th'  say- 
son  fer  Moncrossen?  'Twill  be  fun 
to  watch  Creed.  He'll  be  scairt  shtiff 
an'  white  as  a  biled  shirt,  or  he'll  melt 
down  an'  dhribble  out  t'rough  a  crack 
av  th*  flure." 

And  so.  a  half-hour  later.  Bill  Car- 
inody  for  the  second  time  pushed  open 
Hod  Burrage's  door  and  made  his  way 
to  the  stove. 

The  scene  in  no  wise  differed  from 
the  time  of  his  previous  visit.  Slabs 
of  bacon  still  hung  from  the  roof  logs 
beside  the  rowr  of  tin  coffee-pots;  the 
sawdust-filled  box  was  still  the  object 
of  intermittent  bombardment  by  the 
tobacco-chew  ers,  the  uncertainty  of 
whose  aim  was  mutely  attested  by  the 
generous  circumference  of  brown- 
stained  floor  of  which  the  box  was  the 
center. 

Grouped  about  the  stove,  upon  coun- 
ter, barrel-head,  and  up-ended  goods 
box,  were  the  same  decaying  remnants 
of  the  moldering  town's  vanishing 
population. 

The  thick,  cloudy  glass  with  its 
sticky  edges  still  circulated  for  the 
common  good,  and  above  the  heads  of 
the  unkempt  men  the  air  reeked  gray 
with  the  fumes  of  rank  tobacco. 

Only  the  man  who  entered  had 
changed.  In  his  bearing  was  no  hint 
of  superiority  nor  intolerance;  he  ad- 


THE  PROMISE. 


665 


vanced  heartily,  hailing  these  men  as 
equals  and  friends.  Near  the  stove  he 
halted,  leaning  upon  his  crutch,  and 
swept  the  group  with  a  glance. 

"Good  evening!  Do  any  one  of 
you  men  happen  to  be  named  Dunni- 
gan?" 

From  the  moment  the  tap  of  Bill's 
crutch  sounded  upon  the  wooden  floor, 
Creed,  who  had  paused  in  the  middle 
of  a  sentence  of  his  highly  colored 
narrative,  stared  at  the  newcomer  as 
one  would  ordinarily  stare  when  a  per- 
son known  to  be  dead  casually  steps 
up  and  bids  one  good  evening. 

His  mouth  did  not  open,  his  lower 
jaw  merely  sagged  away  from  his 
face,  exposing  his  tongue  lying  thick 
and  flabby  upon  yellow  teeth.  His 
out-bulging  eyes  fixed  the  features  of 
the  man  before  him  with  a  glassy,  un- 
winking stare,  like  the  stare  of  a  fish. 

Into  his  brain,  at  first,  came  no 
thought  at  all ;  merely  a  dumb  sense 
of  unreasoning  terror  under  which  his 
muscles  went  flaccid,  and  out  of  con- 
trol, so  that  his  body  shrank  limp  and 
heavy  against  its  backing  of  bolt- 
goods. 

Then,  suddenly  a  rush  of  thoughts 
crowded  his  brain,  tangled  thoughts, 
and  weird — of  deep  significance,  but 
without  sequence  nor  reason. 

What  had  they  told  of  this  man  in 
the  woods?  How  he  had  battled  hand 
to  claw  with  the  werwolf  and  re- 
ceived no  hurt.  How  he  had  cowed 
the  boss  with  a  look,  and  laid  the 
mighty  Stromberg  cold  in  the  batting 
of  an  eye. 

He  himself  had,  but  twenty  hours 
since,  seen  this  man  lying  helpless  upon 
the  floor  of  a  locked  shack,  ringed 
round  with  roaring  flames,  beyond  any 
human  possibility  of  escape. 

And  here  he  stood,  crippled  beyond 
peradventure  of  trail-travel,  yet  fresh 
and  un fatigued,  forty  miles  from  the 
scene  of  his  burning!  A  thin  trickle 
of  ice  crept  downward  along  his  spine 
and,  overmastering  all  other  emotions, 
came  the  desire  to  be  elsewhere. 

He  slid  from  the  counter  and,  as  his 


feet  touched  the  floor,  his  knees  crum- 
pled and  he  sprawled  his  length  almost 
at  the  feet  of  the  man  who  could  not 
die. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Creed  aged  ma- 
terially during  his  journey  to  the  door, 
but  to  the  onlookers  his  exit  seemed  a 
miracle  of  frantic  haste  as  he  clawed 
and  scrambled  the  length  of  the  room 
on  hands  and  knees  in  a  maudlin  panic 
of  terror. 

And  out  into  the  night,  as  he  ran  in 
the  first  direction  he  faced,  the  upper- 
most thought  in  his  mind  was  a  blind 
rage  against  Moncrossen. 

The  boss  himself  was  afraid  of  this 
man,  yet  he  had  sent  him.  Creed,  to 
make  away  with  him — alone — in  the 
night !  The  quavering  breath  left  his 
throat  in  long  moans  as  he  ran  on  and 
on  and  on. 

"  Your  friend  seems  to  have  been 
in  something  of  a  hurry/'  ventured 
Bill,  as  Burrage  gave  a  final  twist  to 
the  old  newspaper  in  which  he  was 
wrapping  Fallon's  jug. 

The  storekeeper  regarded  his  cus- 
tomer quizzically  and  spat  with  sur- 
prising accuracy  into  the  box. 

"Yes,"  he  replied  dryly.  "Creed, 
he's  mostly  in  a  hurry  when  they's 
strangers  about.  But  to-night  he 
seemed  right  down  an.vious  thataway." 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
Head-Lines. 

THE  brute  in  Moncrossen  held  sub- 
servient the  more  human  emo- 
tions, else  he  must  surely  have 
betrayed  his  surprise  when,  twelve 
hours  ahead  of  schedule,  the  greener 
swung  the  long-geared  tote-team  to  a 
stand  in  front  of  the  office  door. 

Not  only  had  he  made  the  trip  with- 
out mishap,  but  accomplished  the  seem- 
ingly impossible  in  persuading  Daddy 
Dunnigan  to  cook  for  a  log  camp, 
when  in  all  reason  the  old  man  should 
have  scorned  the  proposition  in  a  tor- 
rent of  Irish  profanity. 

Moncrossen    dealt    only    in  facts. 


600 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


Speculation  as  to  cause  and  effect 
found  no  place  in  his  mental  economy. 
His  plan  had  miscarried.  For  that 
Creed  must  answer  later.  The  fact 
that  concerned  him  now  was  that  the 
greener  continued  to  be  a  menace  to  his 

scheme.  " 

Had  Creed  in  some  manner  bungled 
the  job?  Or  had  he  passed  it  up?  He 
must  find  out  how  much  the  greener 
knew.  The  boss  guessed  that  if  the 
other  had  unearthed  the  plot,  he  would 
force  an  immediate  crisis.  . 

And  so  he  watched  narrowly,  but 
with  apparent  unconcern,  while  Bill 
climbed  f*OM  the  sled,  followed  by 
Daddy  Dunnigan.  In  the  hard-packed 
SHOW  of  the  clearing  the  two  big  men 
faced  each  other,  and  the  expression  of 
each  was  a  perfect  mask  to  his  true 
emotions. 

But  the  greener  knew  that  the  boss 
was  masking,  while  Moncrossen  ac- 
cepted the  other's  guileless  expression 
at  its  face  value,  and  his  pendulous  lips 
widened  int.*  a  grin  of  genuine  relief 
as  he  greeted  the  arrivals. 

"  Hullo!  You  back  a'ready?  Hullo. 
Dunnigan!  I'm  sure  glad  you  come: 
we'll  have  some  real  grub  fer  a  change. 

'Hey,  LaFranz!"  he  called  to  the 
passing  Frenchman.  "  Put  up  this 
team  an'  pack  the  gear  to  the  bunk- 
house." 

As  the  man  drove  away  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  stable.  Moncrossen  regard- 
ed the  others  largely. 

"Cdine  on   in  an*  have  a  drink, 
hovs,"  he  invited,  throwing  wide  the 
door.    "How's  the  foot?  " 
.  "Better,"  replied  Bill.    "  It  will  be 
as  good  as  ever  in  a  week." 

I'm  glad  of  that,  'cause  I  sure  am 
cramped  fer  hands.  I'll  let  Fallon 
break  \><u  into  sawin'  an'  put  Strom- 
l>erg  to  teamin' ;  he's  too  pot-gutted  fer 
a  sawyer." 

Moncrossen  produced  a  bottle  as  the 
others  seated  themselves. 

"What — don't  drink?"  he  ex- 
claimed, as  Bill  passed  the  bottle  to 
Dunnigan.  "That's  so;  b'lieve  I  did 
hear  some  one  say  you  didn't  use  no 


booze.  -Well,  every  man  to  his  own 
likin'.  Me — about  three  good,  stiff 
jolts  a  day,  an'  a  big  drunk  in  the 
spring  an'  fall,  is  about  my  gait.  Have 
a  scegar/'  Bill  accepted]  the  proffered 
weed  and  bit  off  the  ena*. 

"How!"  he  said,  with  a  short 
sweep  of  the  arm;  then,  scratching  a 
match  on  the  rung  of  his  chair,  lighted 
the  unsavory  stogie. 

Thus  each  man  took  measure  of  the 
other,  nn<\  Daddy  Dunnigan  tilted  the 
bottle  and  drank  deep,  the  while  he 
took  shrewd  measure  of  both. 

It  was  in  the  early  afternoon  of  the 
foll.-wing  day  that  Bill  Carmody 
tossed  aside  his  magazine  and  yawned 
drowsily.  Alone  in  the  bunk-house, 
his  glance  roved  idly  over  the  room, 
with  its  tiers  of  empty  bunks  and  racks 
of  drying  garments. 

It  rested  for  a  moment  upon  his 
bandaged  foot  propped  comfortably 
upon  Fallon's  bunk,  directly  beneath 
his  own.  and  strayed  to  the  floor  where 
just  under  its  edge,  still  wrapped  in  the 
soiled  newspaper,  sat  the  gallon  jug 
that  Fallon  suggested  in  case  the 
greener  saw  fit  to  heed  his  warning. 

Bill  smiled  dreamily.  Unconscious- 
ly his  lips  spelled  out  the  words  of  a 
head-lines  that  stared  at  him  from  the 
rounded  surface  of  the  jug: 

POPULAR  MEMBERS  OF  NEW  YORK'S 
FOUR   HUNDRED  TO  WED. 

"Wonder  who?"  thought  Bill. 
Reaching  for  his  crutch,  he  slipped  the 
end  through  the  handle  of  the  jug  and 
drew  it  toward  him.  He  raised  it  to 
his  lap  and  the  words  of  the  succeeding 
line  struck  upon  his  brain  like  an  elec- 
tric shock : 

Engagement  of  Mis  Ethel  Mantoa  and 
Gregory  St.  Ledger  Soon  to  be  Announced. 

Feverishly  his  eyes  devoured  the  fol- 
lowing lines  of  the  extended  heading: 

Time  of  Wedding  Not  Set.  Will  Not  Take  Place 
Immediately,  Tis  Said.  Prospective  Bridegroom 
to  Sail  for  Europe  in  Spring. 


THE  PROMISE. 


607 


And  then  the  two  lines  of  the  story 
that  appeared  at  the  very  bottom, 
where  the  paper  folded  under  the  edge 
of  the  jug: 

New  York,  February  I.  (Special  to 
Tribune). — As  a  distinct  surprise  in  elite 
circles  will  come  the  announcement  of  the 
engage 

He  tilted  the  jug  in  frenzied  eager- 
ness to  absorb  every  detail  of  the  bitter 
news,  and  was  confronted  by  the 
rough,  stone  bottom  which  had  worn 
through  the  covering,  leaving  mangled 
shreds  of  paper,  whose  rolled  and 
mutilated  edges  were  undecipherable. 

Vainly  he  tried  to  restore  the  tat- 
tered remnants,  but  soon  abandoned 
the  hopeless  task  and  sat  staring  at  the 
head-lines. 

Over  and  over  again  he  read  them 
as  if  to  grasp  their  significance,  and 
then,  with  a  full  realization  of  their 
import,  he  closed  his  eyes  and  sat  long 
amid  the  crumbled  ruin  of  his  hopes. 

For  he  had  hoped.  In  spite  of  the 
scorn  in  her  voice  as  she  dismissed 
him,  and  the  bitter  resentment  of  his 
own  parting  words,  he  loved  her;  and 
upon  the  foundation  of  this  love  he  had 
builded  the  hope  of  its  fulfilment. 

A  hope  that  one  day  he  would  return 
to  her,  clean  and  strong  in  the  strength 
of  achievement,  and  that  his  great  pas- 
sion would  beat  down  the  barrier  and 
he  would  claim  her  as  of  right. 

Suddenly  he  realized  that  as  much 
as  upon  the  solid  foundation  of  his 
own  great  love,  the  hope  depended  up- 
on the  false  substructure  of  her  love 
for  him. 

And  the  false  substructure  had 
iTtimbled  at  the  test.  She  loved  an- 
other; had  suddenly  become  as  unat- 
tainable as  the  stars — and  was  lost  to 
him  forever. 

The  discovery  brought  no  poignant 
pain,  no  stabbing  agony  of  a  fresh 
heart-wound;  but  worse — the  dull, 
deep,  soul-hurt  of  annihilation;  the 
hurt  that  damns  men's  lives. 

He  smiled  with'  bitter  cynicism  as 
his  thoughts  dwelt  upon  the  little  love 


of  women,  the  shifting  love,  that  rests 
but  lightly  on  the  heart,  to  change  with 
the  changing  moon.  And  upon  the 
constancy  of  such  love  he  had  dared  to 
build  his  future ! 

"  Fool ! "  he  cried,  and  laughed 
aloud,  a  short,  hard  laugh — the  laugh 
that  makes  God  frown.  From  the 
water-pail  at  his  side  he  drew  the 
long-handled  dipper  and  removed  the 
cork  from  the  jug  and  tilted  the  jug. 
and  watched  the  red  liquor  splash 
noisily  from  its  wide  mouth. 

From  that  moment  he  would  play  a 
man's  game;  would  smash  Moncrossen 
and  his  bird's-eye  men;  would  learn 
logs  and  run  camps,  and  among  the  big 
men  of  the  rough  places  would  win  to 
the  fore  by  the  very  force  and  abandon 
of  him. 

He  had  beaten  the  whisky  game; 
had  demonstrated  his  ability  to  best 
John  Barleycorn  on  his  own  terms  and 
in  his  own  fastnesses. 

And  now  he  would  drink  whisky — 
much  whisky  or  little  whisky  as  he 
saw  fit,  for  there  was  none  to  gainsay 
him — and  in  his  life  henceforth  no 
woman  could  cause  him  pain. 

He  raised  the  dipper  to  his  lips,  and 
the  next  instant  it  rang  upon  the  floor, 
and  over  the  whole  front  of  him 
splashed  the  raw  liquor,  and  in  his 
nostrils  was  the  fume  and  reek  of  it. 

Unmindful  of  his  injury,  he  leaped 
to  his  feet  and  turned  to  face  Daddy 
Dunnigan,  who  was  returning  his 
crutch  to  his  armpit. 

"  Toimes  Oi've  yanked  Captain 
Fronte  from  th'  road  av  harm."  the 
old  man  was  saying,  and  the  red- 
rimmed,  rheumy  eyes  shone  bright ; 
"  wanst  from  in  front  av  a  char-rge 
av  the  hillmen  an'  wanst  bevant  Khy- 
bar.  But  Oi'm  thinkin'  niver  befoor 
was  Oi  closter  to  th'  roight  place  at  th* 
roight  toime  thin  a  minit  agone. 

"  Whisky  is  made  to  be  dhrank  fer  a 
pastime  av  enj'ymint — not  alone — wid 
a  laugh  loike  that.  Ye've  got  th' 
crayther  on  th'  run.  but  ye  must  give 
no  quarter.  Battles  is  won  not  in  th' 
thruse,  but  in  th'  foightin'. 


668  ALL- STORY 

"No  McKim  iver  yit  raised  th' 
white  flag,  an'  none  iver  died  wid  his 
back  to  ill'  front.  Set  ye  down,  lad, 
an'  think  it  over." 

He  finished  speaking  and  hobbled 
toward  the  door,  and,  passing  out, 
closed  the  door  behind  him.  Alone  in 
the  bunk-house  Bill  Carmody  turned 
again  to  the  jug  and  fitted  the  cork  to 
its  mouth,  and  with  his  crutch  pushed 
it  under  the  edge  of  Fallon's  bunk. 

Hours  later,  whiaa  the  men  stamped 
in  noisily  to  the  wash-bench,  he  was 
sitting  there  in  the  dark — thinking. 

The  results  of  Daddy  Dunnigan's 
cooking  were  soon  evident  in  the 
Blood  River  camp.  Men  no  longer 
returned  to  the  bunk-house  growling 
and  cur>ing  the  grub,  and  Moncrossen 
QOted  with  satisfaction  that  the  daily 
cut  was  steadily  climbing  toward  the 
eighty-thousand  mark. 

The  boss  added  a  substantial  bonus 
for  each  day's  "  top  cut,"  and  in  the 
lengthening  days  an  intense  rivalry 
sprang  up  between  the  sawyers ;  not 
infrequently  Bill  and  Fallon  were  "in 
on  the  money." 

It  was  nearly  two  weeks  after  the 
incident,  that  Creed  came  to  Mon- 
crossefl  with  his  own  story  of  what 
happened  that  night  at  Melton's  No. 
8,  and  the  boss  knew  that  he  lied. 

As  they  talked. in  the  little  office  the 
greener.  accompanied  by  Fallon 
passed  close  to  the  window. 

At  the  sight  of  the  man  the  spot- 
ter's face  became  pasty,  and  he  shrank 
trembling  and  wide-eyed,  as  from  the 
sight  of  a  ghost,  and  Moncrossen 
knew  that  his  abject  terror  was  not 
engendered  by  physical  fear. 

He  flew  into  a  rage,  cursing  and 
bullying  the  craven,  but  failed  utterly 
to  dispel  the  unwholesome  fear  or  to 
shake  the  other's  repeated  statement 
that  at  a  few  mimics  past  ten  o'clock 
that  night  he  had  seen  the  greener 
lying  hopelessly  drunk  upon  the  floor 
of  the  shack  with  the  flames  roaring 
about  him,  and  at  six  'clock  the  next 
evening  had  seen  him  hobble  into  Bur- 


WEEKLY. 

rage's  store,  forty  miles  to  the  south- 
ward, fresh  and  apparently  unharmed 

save  for  his  injured  foot. 

Moncrosscn's  hatred  of  the  greener 
rested  primarily  upon  the  fear  that 
one  day  he  would  expose  him  to 
Appleton;  added  to  this  was  a  mighty 
jealousy  of  his  rapid  rise  to  proficiency 
and  the  rankling  memory  of  the  scene 
of  their  first  meeting  in  the  grub  shack. 

But  his  fear  ««f  him  was  a  physical 
fear — a  fear  born  of  the  certain  knowl- 
edge that,  measured  by  his  own  stand- 
ards, the  greener  was  the  better  man. 

And  now  came  the  perplexing  ques- 
tion as  to  how  the  man  had  reached 
Hilarity  when  Creed  was  known  to 
have  arrived  there  with  the  team  eight 
hours  after  the  burning  of  the  shack. 

The  boss  had  carefully  verified  so 
much  of  Creed's  story  by  a  guarded 
pumping)  of  Dunnigan,  and  the  crafty 
old  Irishman  took  keen  delight  in  so 
wording  his  answers,  and  interspersing 
them  with  knowing  winks  and  quirks 
of  the  head,  as  to  add  nothing  to  the 
boss's  peace  of  mind. 

While  not  sharing  Creed's  belief  in 
the  greener's  possession  of  uncanny 
powers,  nevertheless  he  knew  that, 
whatever  happened  that  night,  the 
greener  knew  more  than  he  chose  to 
tell,  and  as  his  apprehension  deepened 
his  rage  increased. 

Hate  smoldered  in  the  swinish  eyes 
as,  in  the  seclusion  of  the  office,  he 
glowered  and  planned  and  rumbled  his 
throaty  threats. 

"  The  drive,"  he  muttered.  "  My 
Bucko  Bill,  you're  right  now  picked 
for  the  drive,  an'  I'll  see  to  it  myself 
that  you  git  yourn  in  the  river." 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
The  Log  Jam. 

THE  feel  of  spring  filled  the  air; 
the  sun  swung  higher  and  higher; 
and  the  snow  turned  dark  and 
lay  soggy  with  water.    With  the  in- 
creasing warmth  of  the  longer  days, 
men's  thoughts  turned  to  the  drive. 


THE  PROMISE. 


669 


The}'  talked  of  water-front  streets, 
with  their  calk- riddled  plank  sidewalks 
and  low-fronted  bars;  of  squalid  back 
wine-rooms,  where  for  a  week  they 
would  be  allowed  to  bask,  sodden,  in 
the  smiles  of  the  painted  women — 
then,  drugged,  beaten  and  robbed, 
would  wake  up  in  a  filthy  alley  and 
hunt  up  a  job  in  the  mills. 

It  was  all  in  a  lifetime,  this  annual 
spring  debauch.  The  men  accepted  it 
as  part  of  the  ordered  routine  of  their 
lives accepted  it  without  shame  or 
regret,  boasting  and  laughing  unblush- 
ingly  over  past  episodes  —  facing  the 
future  gladly  and  without  disgust. 

"  You  mind  Jake  Sonto's  place, 
where  big  Myrtle  hangs  out?  They 
frisked  Joe  Manning  fer  sixty  bucks 
last  year.  I  seen  'em  do  it.  What! 
Me  ?  I  was  too  sleepy  to  give  a  cuss — 
they  got  mine,  too." 

And  so  the  talk  drifted  among  them. 
Revolting  details  of  abysmal  man- fail- 
ings, brutal  reminiscences  of  knock-out 
drops,  robbery,  and  even  murder,  fur- 
nished the  themes  for  jest  and  gibe 
which  drew  forth  roars  of  laughter. 

And  none  sought  to  avoid  the  inevi- 
table; rather,  they  looked  forward  to  it 
in  brutish  anticipation,  accepting  it  as 
a  matter  of  course. 

For  so  had  lumber-jacks  been 
drugged,  beaten  and  robbed  since  the 
first  pine  fell — and  so  will  they  con- 
tinue to  be  drugged,  beaten  and  robbed 
until  the  last  log  is  jerked,  dripping, 
from  the  river  and  the  last  white  board 
is  sawed. 

On  the  night  of  the  8th  of  April 
the  cut  was  complete,  and  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  9th  ten  million  feet  of  logs 
towered  on  the  roll  ways  along  the 
river,  ready  for  the  breaking  up  of  the 
ice. 

Stromberg  had  banked  the  bird's- 
eye  to  his  own  satisfaction,  and  Mon- 
CTOSsen  selected  his  crew  for  the 
drive — white-water  men.  whose  boast 
it  was  that  they  never  had  walked  a 
f'x>t  from  the  timber  to  the  mills; 
bateau  men,  who  laughed  in  the  face 
of  death  as  they  swarmed  over  a  jam; 


key-log  men,  who  scorned  dynamite; 
bend  watchers,  whose  duty  it  is  to 
stay  awake  through  the  long,  warm 
days  and  prevent  the  formation  of 
jams  as  the  drive  shoots  by — each  se- 
lected with  an  eye  to  previous  expe- 
rience and  physical  fitness. 

For,  among  all  occupations  of  men. 
log  driving  stands  unique  for  its  hard- 
ships of  peril,  discomfort,  and  bone- 
racking  toil. 

From  the  breaking  out  of  the  roll- 
ways  until  the  last  log  slips  smoothly 
into  Its  place  in  the  boom-raft,  no 
man's  life  is  safe. 

Yet  men  fight  for  a  place  on  the 
drive — for  the  privilege  of  being 
soaked  to  the  bone  for  days  at  a  time 
in  ice-cold  water;  of  being  crushed  to 
a  pulp  between  grinding  logs:  of  being 
drowned  in  white-water  rapids,  where 
a  man  must  stand,  his  log  moving  at 
the  speed  of  an  express  train,  time 
and  again  shooting  half  out  of  water 
to  meet  the  spray  of  the  next  rock- 
tossed  wave;  of  making  hair-trigger 
decisions,  when  an  instant's  hesitation 
means  death,  as  his  log  rushes  under 
the  low-hanging  branches  of  a 
"  sweeper." 

For  pure  love  of  adventure  they 
fight — and  that  a  few  more  dollars 
may  find  their  way  into  the  tills  of 
the  Jake  Sontos,  of  the  water-front 
dives.  For  among  these  men  the  bait- 
ing of  death  is  the  excitement  of  life, 
and  their  pleasures  are  the  savage 
pleasures  of  firstlings. 

Those  who  were  not  of  the  drive 
were  handed  their  vouchers  and 
hauled  to  Hilarity,  while  those  who  re- 
mained busied  themselves  in  the  pack- 
ing and  storing  of  gear;  for,  in  the 
fall,  the  crew  would  return  to  renew 
the  attack  on  the  timber. 

Followed,  then,  days  of  waiting. 

The  two  bateaus — the  cook's  bateau. 
With  its  camp  stove  and  store  of  sup- 
plies; and  the  big  bateau,  with  its 
thousand  feet  of  inch  and  a  half 
manila  line  coiled  for  instant  use. 
whose  thick,  flaring  sides  and  floor  of 
selected  timber,  were   built   to  over- 


670 


ALL-STORY  WEEKLY, 


ride  the  shock  and  battering  of  a  thou- 
sand pitching  logs— were  carried  to 
the  bank  ready  for  launching. 

The  sodden  snow  settled  heavily, 
and  around  the  base  of  stumps  and 
th.e  trunks  of  standing  trees,  appeared 
rings  of  bare  ground,  while  the  course 
■  f  the  skidwavs  and  cross-hauls  stood 
out  sharp  and  black,  like  great  veins 
in  the  clearing. 

Each  sag  and  depression  became  a 
pond,  and  "countless  rills  and  rivulets 
gurgled  riverward.  bank  full  with 
sparkling  snow-water. 

Over  the  frozen  surface  of  the  river 
it  Mowed  and  wore  at  the  shore-bound 
ice-fl<x>r.  And  then,  one  night,  the  ice 
went  out. 

Titanically  it  w  ent,  and  noisily,  with 
the  crash  and  grind  of  broken  cakes; 
and  in  the  morning  the  river  rushed 
black,  and  deep,  and  swollen,  its 
roiled  waters  tearing  sullenly  at  crum- 
bling banks,  while  upon  its  muddy 
surface  heaved  belated  ice-cakes  and 
uprooted  trees. 

At  daylight  men  crowded  the  bank, 
the  bend  watchers  strung  out  and 
took  up  their  positions,  and  white 
water  men  stood  by  with  sharp  axes 
to  break  out  the  rolhvays. 

The  first  rolhvav  broke  badly. 

A  thick-butted  log  slanted  and  met 
the  others  head-on  as  they  thundered 
down  the  bank,  tossing  them  high  in 
the  air  whence  they  fell  splashing  into 
the  river,  or  crashed  backward 
among  the  tumbling  logs,  upending, 
and  hurling  them  about  like  jack- 
straws. 

The  air  was  filled  with  the  heavy 
rumble  of  rolling  logs  as  other  roll- 
Mays  tore  loose  at  the  swift  blows  of 
the  axes,  where,  at  the  crack  of  tog- 
gle-pins, men  leaped  front  in  front  of 
the  rolling,  crushing  death;  and  the 
surface  oi  the  river  became  black  with 
bucking,  pitching  logs  which  shot  to 
the  opposite  bank. 

Coincident  with  the  snapping  of  the 
first  toggle-pin.  the  branches  of  a 
gigantic,  storm-blasted  pine,  whose 
earth-laded  butt  dragged  heavily  along 


the  bottom  of  the  river,  became  firmly 
entangled  in  the   low-hanging  limbs 

of  a  sweeper,  and  swung  sluggishly 
across  the  current. 

Against  this  obstruction  crashed  the 
leaping,  upending  logs  of  the  wrecked 
rollway.  Other  logs  swept  in  and 
wedged,  forcing  the  heavy  butt  and 
the  riven  trunk  of  the  huge  tree  firmly 
against  the  rocks  at  the  head  of  the 
rapid. 

Rollway  after  rollwav  tore  loose 
and  the  released  logs,  swept  down- 
ward by  the  resistless  push  of  the  cur- 
rent, climbed  one  upon  another  and 
lodged.  Higher  and  higher  the  jam 
towered,  the  interlocking  logs  piling 
in  hopeless  tangle. 

Moncrossen  was  beside  himself. 
Up  and  down  the  bank  he  rushed,  bel- 
lowing orders  and  hurling  curses  at 
the  men  who.  gripping  their  peaveys, 
swarmed  over  the  heaving  jam  like 
flies. 

The  bateau  men.  forty  of  them, 
lifted  the  heavy  boat  bodily,  and 
working  it  out  to  the  very  forefront 
of  the  jam.  lowered  it  into  the  water, 
while  other  men  made  the  heavy  cable 
fast  to  the  trunk  of  a  tree.  Close 
under  the  towering  pile  the  bateau 
was  snubbed  with  a  short,  light  line, 
afld  the  men  clambered  shoreward, 
leaving  only  Moncrossen.  Stromberg, 
Fallon,  and  one  other  to  search  for  the 
key-log. 

Tt  was  a  comparatively  simple  jam. 
the  key  to  which  was  instantly  ap- 
parent to  the  experienced  rivermen. 
in  two  large  logs  wedged  in  the  form 
of  an  inverted  V.  The  quick  twist 
of  a  peavcy  inserted  at  the  vertex  of 
the  angle,  and  the  drive  should  move. 

Fallon  and  Stromberg,  past  masters 
both  of  the  drive,  made  ready  wrhile 
the  other  stood  by  to  cast  off  the  light 
line  and  allow  the  bateau  to  swing  free 
on  the  main  cable. 

Moncrossen  clambered  to  the  top  to 
shout  warning  to  those  who  swarmed 
over  the  body  of  the  jam  and  along 
the  edges  of  the  river. 

At  the  first  bellowed  orders  of  the 


boss.  Bill  Carmody  had  leaped  onto 
the  heaving  jam  and,  following  in  the 
wake  of  others,  began  picking  his  way 
to  the  opposite  shore. 

New  to  the  game,  he  had  no  definite 
idea  of  what  was  expected  of  him, 
so,  with  an  eye  upon  those  nearest 
him.  he  determined  to  follow  their 
example. 

To  watch  from  the  bank  and  see 
men  whose  boast  it  is  that  they  "  c'd 
ride  a  bubble  if  their  calks  wouldn't 
prick  it,"  leap  lightly  from  log  to  roll- 
ing log;  hesitate,  run  its  length  and 
leap  to  another  as  it  sinks  under  them, 
nothing  looks  simpler. 

But  the  greener  who  confidently 
tries  it  for  the  first  time  instantly 
finds  himself  in  a  position  uncomfort- 
ably precarious,  if  not  actually  dan- 
gerous. 

Bill  found,  to  his  disgust,  that  the 
others  had  gained  the  opposite  bank 
before  he  had  reached  the  middle, 
where  he  paused,  balancing  uncer- 
tainly, and  hesitating  whether  to  go 
ahead  or  return. 

The  log  upon  which  he  stood  oscil- 
lated dizzily  and  as  he  sprang  for  an- 
other, his  foot  slipped  and  he  fell 
heavily,  his  peavey  clattering  down- 
ward among  the  promiscuously  tangled 
logs,  to  come  to  rest  some  six 
feet  beneath  him.  where  the  white 
water  curled  foaming  among  the  logs 
of  the  lower  tier. 

Bill  glanced  hastily  about  him,  ex- 
pecting the  shouts  of  laughter  and 
good-natured  chaffing  which  is  the  in- 
evitable aftermath  of  the  clumsy  mis- 
adventure of  a  riverman.  The  bateau 
men  were  just  gaining  the  shore  and 
the  attention  of  the  others  was  en- 
gaged elsewhere,  so  that  none  noticed 
the  accident,  and,  with  a  grin  of  re- 
lief. Bill  clambered  down  to  recover 
his  peavey. 

And  Moncrossen.  peering  over  the 
top  of  the  jam,  took  in  the  situation 
at  a  glance — the  river  apparently  clear 
of  men.  and  the  greener,  invisible  to 
those  on  shore,  crawling  about  among 
the  logs  in  the  center  of  the  pile. 


It  was  the  moment  for  which  he 
had  waited.  Even  the  most  careful 
planning  could  not  have  created  a 
situation  more  to  his  liking.  At  last 
the  greener  was  "  his." 

"There  she  goes!"  he  roared,  and 
turning,  slid  hastily  from  the  top  and 
leaped  into  the  waiting  bateau. 

"  Let  'er  go!  "  he  shouted. 

Fallon  and  Stromberg  leaped  for- 
ward and  simultaneously  their  peaveys 
bit  into  the  smaller  of  the  two  key- 
logs. 

Both  big  men  heaved  and  strained, 
once,  twice,  thrice,  and  the  log  turned 
slowly,  allowing  the  end  of  the  other 
to  pass. 

The  logs  trembled  for  an  instant, 
then,  forced  by  the  enormous  weight 
behind  them,  shot  sidewise,  crossed 
each  other,  and  pressed  the  tree-trunk 
deep  under  the  boiling  water. 

A  mighty  quiver  ran  through  the 
whole  mass  of  the  jam,  it  balanced 
for  a  shuddering  instant,  then  with  a 
mighty  rush,  let  go. 

Over  the  side  of  the  bateau  tumbled 
Fallon  and  Stromberg,  sprawling  on 
the  bottom  at  the  feet  of  the  boss, 
while  the  man  in  the  bow  cast  off 
the  light  line. 

The  next  instant  the  heavy  boat 
leaped  clear  of  the  water,  overriding, 
climbing  to  the  very  summit  of  the 
pounding,  plunging  logs  which  threat- 
ened each  moment  to  crush  and  batter 
through  her  sides  and  bottom. 

The  strong,  new  line  was  singing 
taut  to  the  pull  of  the  heavy  bateau 
which  was  being  gradually  crowded 
shoreward  by  the  sweep  of  the  down- 
rushing  logs. 

Suddenly  a  mighty  shout  went  up 
from  those  on  the  bank.  The  men  in 
the  bateau  looked,  and  there,  almost 
in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  was  the 
greener  leaping  from  log  to  log  of  the 
Wildly  pitching  jam. 

They  stared  horror-stricken,  with 
tense,  blanched  faces.  Each  instant 
seemed  as  if  it  must  be  his  last,  for 
they  knew  that  no  man  alive  could 
hope  to  keep  his  feet  in  the  mad  rush 


672 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


and  sweep  of  the  tumbling,  tossing 
drive. 

Vet  the  greener  was  keeping  his 
fret     Time  and  again  he  recovered 

bis  balance  when  death  seemed  immi- 
nent, and  amid  wild  shouts  and  yells 
of  encouragement,  climbing,  leaping, 
running,  stumbling,  he  worked  his 
way  shoreward. 

He  was  almost  opposite  the  bateau 
now.  and  Stroml>erg,  hastily  coiling 
the  light  line,  leaped  into  the  bow. 
Then,  just  when  it   seemed  possible 

TO  BE  CONTINUED  NEXT  WEEK.    Don't  f 
you  will  get  the  continuation  of  I 


that  the  greener  might  make  itf  a  huge 
log  shot  upward  from  the  depths  and 
fell  with  a  crash  squarely  across  the 
log  upon  which  he  was  riding. 

A  cry  of  horror  went  up  from  half 
a  hundred  throats  as  the  man  was 
thrown  high  into  the  air  and  fell  back 
into  the  foaming  white  water  that 
showed  here  and  there  through  the 
thinning  tangle  of  logs. 

The  next  instant  a  hundred  logs 
passed  over  the  spot,  drawn  down  by 
the  suck  of  the  rapid. 

rget  this  magazine  it  itiurd  weekly,  and  that 
.is  story  without  waiting  a  month. 


exmue 


IHE  Monday  morning  horde 
of  women  milled  and  vol- 
leyed around  the  bargain 
square  in  the  sul>-basement 
of  the  People's  Emporium. 

Above  the  eager  heads 
and  flopping  hats  of  those 
nearest  the  firing  line,  signs  lured  and 
beckoned  those  back  in  the  ruck  of  the 
Uirgain-hunting  army. 
"  Was  75c— Now'  _^c." 
"  Worth  $1.00— Choice  19c." 
True,  half  the  shoppers  in  the  rear 
guard  did  not  know  what  it  was  all 
about ;  but  clearly  it  was  worth  risking 
an  eye.  an  ear.  or  a  switch  to  learn. 

Probably  shirt-waist  transparencies 
were  on  display ;  it  might  be  new-fan- 
gled mouse-traps,  or  bed,  dresser,  or 


1  J.  L 


ewis 


corset-covers.  But  the  printed  coun- 
ter-tags called  and  urged  as  would  an 
enemy's  battle-flags,  and  the  assault 
flowed,  was  repulsed,  ebbed,  and  flowed 

again. 

In  the  trenches  within  the  square, 
Hushed  and  perspiring  girls  poised 
their  pencils  like  bayonets,  valiantly 
withstanding  each  attack. 

Some  went  down,  crushed  and 
breathless,  before  carefully  planned 
sorties:  only  to  spring  back  to  the  fray 
with  challenging  shrieks  of — "  Two 
for  you.  lady?  M  "  Cash  or  charge?  " 
and  "  Bought  by  self?  " 

One  militant  eagle,  goaded  by  hope- 
less desperation,  pummeled  an  ob- 
structing wren  who  blocked  the  path 
to  victory. 


THE  MOLL  BUZZER. 


673 


The  eagle  struck  with  heavy  shop- 
ping-bag, but  the  wren  retaliated  with 
an  elbow  thrust  straight  at  the  eagle's 
jugular. 

The  eyes  of  another  quick-saler  sud- 
denly flamed  with  battle's  lurid  light. 
,With  a  screaming  babe  held  high 
above  her  head  as  though  she  were 
about  to  hurl  a  deadly  hand-grenade, 
she  executed  a  brilliant  forward  pass, 
crying : 

"Take  your  kid,  Annie;  I  want 
some  myself!"  and,  empty  handed, 
surged  into  the  midst  of  the  awful  riot. 

Floor-walkers  skirted  the  crowd, 
harrying  and  jeering  the  buyers  on  to 
fresh  atrocities  against  the  weary 
trench-holders.  Cash-girls,  hair  fly- 
ing, eyes  staring,  weaved  and  threaded 
and  catapulted  like  powder  monkeys, 
saucing  here,  scratching  there,  and  bit- 
ing yonder. 

Finally,  when  a  grim-visaged  pa- 
triot seized  a  garment  and  waved  it 
aloft  as  a  banner  of  defiance,  only  to 
see  a  sleeve  torn  from  it  by  one  of  the 
defied,  a  floor-walker  remarked  to  a 
companion  in  crime: 

"It's  a  great  day  for  the  Empori- 
um !  "    And  it  was. 

Also  a  great  day  for  Moll  Hencher. 

MoD  fluttered  and  pecked  through 
the  crowd  like  a  small  and  scrawny 
mother  hen,  much  to  the  sniffing  and 
sometimes  more  vociferous  and  ribald 
disgust  of  the  women.  For  Moll  was 
a  man  —  a  short,  squat,  oily,  sallow- 
faced,  derby-hatted  and  coat-buttoned 
individual,  but  a  man  nevertheless. 

And,  pray,  what  was  a  man  —  and 
especially  one  with  a  dinky  market- 
basket  on  his  arm — doing  in  a  place 
where  chemises,  hosiery,  garters  or 
other  unmentionables  and  unnoticea- 
bles  might  be  on  exhibition  and  sale? 

But  Moll  assailed  with  the  fiercest, 
advanced  with  the  bravest,  crawled 
and  squirmed  forward  with  the 
sneakiest. 

It  was  too  much.  The  women  al- 
most gave  up  browbreating  the  sales- 
ladies to  tongue-lash  his  cringing  male 
anatomy. 

7  a-s 


"  My  pocketbook !  It's  gone!  You 
— you  wretch — you've  got  it!" 

The  cry  of  a  female  in  distress 
echoed  through  Emporium  aisles.  A 
gaunt  arm  flipped  above  the  heads,  and 
an  open  shopping  bag,  hairpins,  pow- 
der rag  and  handkerchief  flying, 
plopped  down  on  the  Moll's  derby, 
denting  and  crushing  it  until  his  ears 
stood  at  right-angles  with  his  skull. 

"  My  pocketbook!  Give  it  up,  thief! 
I  felt  him  jerk  my  bag!  Take  that — 
and  that!  Police!  Don't  let  him  get 
away !  " 

The  words  and  blows  engulfed  Hen- 
cher as  a  verb-avalanche  and  fist- 
tornado  combined. 

He  expostulated,  fumed  and  denied 
while  he  struggled  in  the  grip  of  bony 
but  strong  fingers.  He  looked  fur- 
tively around  for  a  chance  of  flight,  as 
other  women,  snatching  anxiously  at 
their  own  belongings,  drew  back  in 
dismay. 

Floor  walkers,  cash  girls,  and  the 
more  intrepid  of  the  passers  through 
other  aisles  closed  in.  The  looted  lady 
again  blew  up  with  a  loud  report. 

"  He  has  my  purse  —  the  skinny 
wretch !  Red  outside,  black  inside  " — 
she  was  telling  of  her  pocketbook,  not 
the  Moll,  although  the  description 
would  have  fitted  either — "  and  it  had 
five  dollars  and  eighty  cents!  " 

"  Are  you  sure  of  your  man, 
madam  ?  " 

The  voice  was  impressive,  and  the 
question  came  in  solemn  and  judicial 
manner  from  a  tall,  sleek,  flashily  at- 
tired man  who  had  been  halted  on  his 
walk  through  an  adjacent  aisle  by  the 
first  cry. 

He  had  pushed  through  and  taken  a 
place  at  the  right  of  Hencher  —  be- 
tween that  gentleman  and  the  bargain 
shambles.  As  he  put  his  query  he 
twisted  a  heavy  watch  chain  with  one 
hand  and  oratoricallv  waved  another 
on  which  a  great  diamond  sparkled 
imposingly. 

Yes,  are  you  quite  certain?  "  peev- 
ishly asked  a  floor  walker,  showing  in 
his  tone  that  he  was  not  vastly  in  love 


674 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


with  this  diversion  in  Emporium  fes- 
tivities. 

"  Sure?  Of  course  I  am!"  splut- 
tered the  exasperated  lady.  "  Fools ! 
Don't  I  know  when  my  pocketbook's 
gone?  I  felt  his  skinny  hand.  He's 
gut  it!  Search  him — go  through  the 
beast  \" 

"  But  he  looks  like  a  nice  home- 
bodv,"  insisted  the  prosperous  stran- 
ger.' his  black  mustache  raising  and 
parting  in  a  placating  smile  "  A  reg- 
ular Mr.  Gentleman  Flat-Dweller  out 
shopping  for  the  good  wife." 

"  All  bosh!  That  silly  basket— more 
bosh!  What's  a  man  doing  here,  any- 
way?" She  eyed  the  Moll's  defender 
belligerently.    "  Search  him!  " 

Hencher  gulped  and  wheezed  as  if 
about  to  enter  a  tew  remarks  in  his 
own  behalf,  when  the  stranger,  still 
sitting  in  judgment,  interrupted: 

44  Well,  madam;  if  you're  so  sure  of 
y<«ur  ground,  will  you  please  pass  upon 
the  ownership  of  that  red  purse — on 
the  counter,  there — among  those — er 
— those  goods  ?  " 

"Mine!"  exclaimed  the  shopper, 
grabbing  the  article  from  where  it  was 
partially  hidden  and  quickly  assuring 
herself  that  the  five  dollars  and  eighty 
cents  was  undiminished.  "  But  I  felt 
that  fellow  crowd  me.  He  tugged  at 
my  bag,  too.  What's  a  man  doing  here, 
I'd  like  to  know?  Serves  him  right. 
Skinny  men !    Pooh  !  " 

The  maddened  bargain  -  hunters 
closed  in ;  the  floor  walkers  were 
hustled  away;  the  bayonet  wielders, 
again  on  the  defensive,  parried  and 
thrust  and  stabbed,  and  Moll  Hencher, 
basket  on  arm  and  crestfallen  derby 
on  ears,  ambled  miserably  down  an 
aisle,  with  the  elegant  stranger  as  pilot 
and  preacher. 

44  You.  Dave  Hencher !  Still  a  moll- 
buzzer.  I  see! " 

"  Well,  Piatt,  what's  a  gink  to  do? 
You  gotta  get  along."  whined  the 
Moll,  hands  deep  in  pockets  and  basket 
trailing  like  some  new  style  of  wicker- 
bustle.    "  I  gotta  live,  ain't  t?  " 

4  That's  obvious."  sneered  his  critic. 


"  But  this  time  you  came  close  to  living 
off  the  State  for  a  while.  However,  I 
see  you  recognized  me." 

44  Reco'nize  you?  I'd  reco'nize  you 
in — well,  in  hotter  places  than  a  moll- 
rush  to  a  bargain-counter.  How'd  y' 
turn  the  trick,  Piatt?  I  thought  I  was 
gone  up  th*  river — me  again  fer  stir!  " 

44  1  just  fell  back  on  the  old  stuff," 
explained  Piatt,  smiling  over  his  own 
accomplishment  and  the  unspoken 
praise  in  the  Moll's  words.  14  I  hap- 
pened to  be  in  the  store  on  business 
with  one  of  the  department  heads.  I 
heard  the  baying  of  the  hounds  and 
recognized  you  as  the  one  up  the  tree. 

44  I  took  the  leather — you  still  call 
them  leathers,  don't  you? — from  your 
coat-pocket  and  slipped  it  onto  the 
counter,  just  like  that.  But  3*011 — still 
a  moll-buzzer,  after  fifteen  years!  Still 
preying  on  women!  The  lowest  of 
thieves!  Why  don't  you  try  second- 
story  work,  stealing  door-mats  —  or 
something  dignified?" 

"Yes,  still  a  moll-buzzer!"  blurted 
Hencher.  "  Tell  me  what  else  I  c'd 
do,  will  you?  Ain't  the  bulls  all  hep 
t'  me  ?  Ain't  it '  move  on  '  all  th'  time? 
Get  away  f'om  here  an'  hot- foot  f'om 
there?  Ain't  it  once  a  dip  alius  a  dip 
with  th'  bulls,  an'  ain't  a  moll-buzzer, 
just  'cause  he  frisks  women's  hand- 
bags an'  pockets,  trun  out  by  th'  crooks 
an'  yeggs  who  t'ink  they're  a  bit 
higher?" 

"  Oh,  I  knew  the  gang  wouldn't 
have  much  use  for  one  of  your  kind," 
assured  Piatt,  44  but  I  didn't  know  the 
police  were  barking  so  close  to  your 
heels.    Have  you  done  your  time?" 

M  Barkin'  is  good,  but  bitin'  would 
be  better."  wailed  the  Moll,  bringing 
up  on  a  corner  when  it  seemed  that  his 
benefactor  had  gone  about  as  far  as  he 
cared  to  with  one  so  notorious.  '*  Mcb- 
be  not  in  this  town  tlv  bulls  ain't  so 
keen  on  me,  but  in  other  places — gee! 
An'  certain  I've  done  my  bit.  Two 
years — five  years." 

Then,  as  if  comparisons  might  help 
his  weak  case :  "  But  you've  done  a 
stint  'r  two  yerself." 


THE  MOLL  BUZZER. 


675 


"  Only  one,  Dave ;  let  me  correct 
you,"  protested  Piatt,  grinning  in  an 
indulgent  and  superior  way,  and  sizing 
up  Hencher's  shabby  and  shiny  suit, 
which  did  not  bear  close  inspection,  al- 
though at  a  distance  he  might  have 
passed  for  the  loving  husband  and 
father  out  to  pick  up  a  week's  bargains 
in  groceries. 

That  was  the  only  time,  Dave — 
the  one  you  helped  me  out  of,"  he  con- 
tinued. "  And  it  was  because  of  your 
aid  on  that  occasion  that  I  took  a 
chance  and  helped  you  this  morning. 
But  I  must  be  moving,  Dave.  Due  at 
the  office,  you  know." 

"  Wait:  a  minute,  Piatt — just  a  min- 
ute." pleaded  the  Moll,  practically  un- 
screwing the  derby  in  his  efforts  to  get 
it  off  and  fashion  it  into  a  less  maudlin 
shape.  "  Gimme  a  tip.  old  scout. 
What's  yer  lay  now?  Y'  look  some 
genteel  fer  fair.  Iron  lid,  tin  shirt, 
b'iled  vest,  spitty-spats  an'  shiner 
shoes.    My-o.  Piatt !    Wise  me  up !  " 

"  It  isn't  a  line,  Dave,"  answered 
Piatt,  pausing  and  turning  back.  "  At 
least  no  line  that  you  would  know  any- 
thing about.  I  simply  branched  off  the 
old  road.  For  fifteen  years  I've  been 
decent  and  honest,  dealing  with  decent 
and  honest  folk.  It  was  a  new  and 
thick  leaf  T  turned  over.  I'd  advise 
you  to  do  the  same.  A  home  and  wife 
and  children  on  one  side,  Dave.  On 
the  other  —  well,  there's  stir  and  the 
long  time.    Think  it  over." 

"  Huh !  A  swell  chance  I'd  have, 
Piatt,  with  Eh'  bulls  gurin'  me  on  one 
side  an'  th'  gang  harpoonin'  me  on 
t'other.    No  use!  " 

Nevertheless  Hencher  gazed  en- 
viously at  the  silk  hat,  perfectly 
groomed  figure,  white  vest,  gray  spats 
and  patent-leather  shoes  as  he  added  : 

'*  lt'd  be  a  fine  hick  of  a  boob  who'd 
give  me  a  show  now.  Wouldn't  it? 
Me — pickin'  women's  pockets  an'  doin' 
penance  up  river  fer  fifteen  years — 
me!  " 

"  /  might  be  the  boob."  declared  the 
other,  "  and — T  believe  I  will — for  the 
sake  of  that  —  well,  because  I  don't 


think  you  got  started  right.  Any  man 
can  make  good,  if  he'll  work.  But  it 
isn't  Piatt  any  more,  Dave.  It's  Per- 
rin — Robert  J.  Perrin  instead.  Here's 
my  card.  If  you'll  come  to  my  office 
in,  say,  an  hour — better  not  come  in 
with  me — we'll  talk  it  over.  *In  the 
mean  time  ditch  the  basket  and  cut  the 
moll-buzzing." 

A  convenient  alley  received  into  its 
flinty  bosom  the  undesirable  wicker- 
wurk,  and  Hencher  took  a  few  turns 
around  the  neighborhood,  thinking 
over  his  own  career  and  what  he  had 
come  to,  as  he  compared  it  with  the 
sunnier,  happier  paths  of  the  one  who 
had  been  Bob  Piatt. 

Pie  had  come  upon  Plait  in  an  up- 
State  workhouse,  where  they  were 
both  doing  their  six  months'  bit  as 
vagrants. 

Really  they  were  not  vags,  but 
va°rancv  covers  a  multitude  of  sins — 
and  sinners. 

A  robbery  had  been  committed ;  the 
police  dragnet  had  been  thrown  out, 
and  both  Hencher  and  Piatt  had  been 
hauled  in  with  the  greater  and  leaser 
fishes. 

Neither  was  guilty,  and  both  had 
money  in  their  pockets;  yet  for  being 
birds  of  passage — without  nest  or  visi- 
ble means  of  support — they  had  as- 
sisted the  county  in  its  road-building 
efforts  by  making  little  rocks  out  of 
big  ones. 

But  only  for  three  months.  Then 
Hencher  had  proposed  to  Piatt,  his 
rock-pile  buddy,  because  he  was  the 
human  anchor  at  the  other  end  of  his 
leg-chain,  that  they  escape  through  the 
simple  expedient  of  crawling  into  a 
thicket  while  a  somnolent  guard  was 
taking  his  afternoon  siesta,  knocking 
off  the  rusted  and  ill-fitting  shackles 
with  a  rock-hammer  and  walking 
away. 

Their  scheme  had  miscarried  only 
when  Piatt,  in  nervous  haste,  wounded 
his  ankle  more  than  the  iron  bracelet. 

Hencher,  already  released,  had  re- 
fused to  desert  his  injured  comrade; 
had  supported  and  half  carried  him  lor 


676 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


miles  to  a  safe  retreat  in  the  under- 
brush of  a  ravine;  had  foraged  pro- 
visions over  the  countryside  for  three 
days  until  Piatt  was  in  condition  to  go 
his  way. 

There  had  been  no  pursuit — the  of- 
ficials evidently  figuring  it  a  good  rid- 
dance, and  the  pair  had  separated, 
journeying  in  almost  opposite  direc- 
tions. 

That  was  fifteen  years  ago.  Since 
then  Hencher  had  done  his  seven  years 
in  two  instalments. 

With  women  always  as  his  victims, 
he  had  come  to  be  known  as  Moll  Hen- 
cher; his  picture  adorned  several 
rogues'  galleries,  and  on  this  morning, 
after  the  long  struggle,  he  could  only 
boast  of  the  clothes  on  his  back — 
worth  in  the  aggregate  about  twelve 
dollars;  the  few  coins  in  his  pockets, 
a  poor  room  in  the  lower  town,  and  a 
reputation  which  would  get  him  ten 
years,  if  he  ever  showed  his  nose  to  a 
criminal  judge  again. 

A  scant  fortune,  of  which  he  did  not 
boast — the  entire  fruits  of  criminality 
and  petty  dipping  —  was  embraced 
within  the  narrow  limits  of  an  account 
in  a  side-street  savings  bank.  This 
bank-book,  having  across  its  face  a 
carefully  chosen  alias,  and  holding  in 
its  folds  a  credit  for  three  hundred  and 
twenty  -  five  dollars,  was  concealed 
under  a  corner  of  the  carpet  in  his 
room. 

With  the  crook's  usual  caution, 
Dave  had  managed  to  provide  a  fee 
for  a  mouthpiece,  or  attorney,  against 
a  day  when  he  might  be  compelled,  in 
spite  of  his  wriggling,  jostling  ways, 
to  face  that  criminal  judge. 

His  pursuits  took  him  to  store-sales, 
matinees,  concerts,  into  the  crowded 
streets,  to  busy  corners,  on  street-cars 
— to  all  places  where  women  might 
congregate. 

He  seldom  buzzed  a  male.  Women 
were  safer,  more  easily  outrun — took 
jostling  more  amiably  than  did  men. 

The  game  could  hardly  be  called 
profitable,  but  the  wolves  at  his  door 
apparently  drove  away  the  dogs  of  the 


law,  for  he  had  not  seen  the  inside  of 
a  jail  in  eighteen  months — nor  the  in- 
side of  a  first-class  restaurant,  either. 

It  would  never  do,  and  the  Moll 
knew  it.  to  eat  into  that  nest-egg  for 
the  mouthpiece,  whose  spieling  might 
be  needed  any  day. 

With  the  Bob  Piatt  of  other  years 
things  must  be  quite  different. 

The  department  store  episode  had 
brought  him  out  of  the  past.  He  was 
clad  in  much  purple  and  fine  linen. 

The  11  iron  hat  "  which  had  aroused 
the  Moll's  jealousy,  while  it  might  con- 
stitute an  unpardonable  offense  in  a 
pickpocket's  eyes,  nevertheless  bespoke 
a  considerable  plutocracy.  The  per- 
fect fitting  and  tight-buttoned  coat 
hinted  at  an  august  and  capable  check- 
book beneath — a  book  that  would  pass 
much  more  readily  than  the  puny  thing 
in  the  inner  lining  of  Dave's  blowzy 
coat. 

And  the  diamonds  on  the  hands  and 
in  the  necktie — 

"  Why,  th'  guy  sports  more  ice  th'n 
a  rink,"  soliloquized  the  Moll.  "  He 
sparks  like  a  arc  lamp !  " 

Piatt — or  Perrin — must  be  doing 
pretty  well!  Honest  ways  paid,  if  you 
had  the  wit  to  get  by  and  the  brain  to 
put  it  over. 

And  yet  Piatt  had  been  a  crook  him- 
self, or.  at  least,  Hencher  thought  so. 
He  had  never  been  quite  sure  until  the 
bargain-counter  scene. 

The  dexterity  with  which  his  old 
prison  mate  had  extracted  the  leather 
from  his  kick  and  concealed  it  among 
the  flubdub  on  the  counter  was  con- 
vincing. It  was  a  cinch!  Piatt  had 
certainly  been  a  dip  in  the  old  days — 
or  he  never  could  have  pulled  such  a 
flooey. 

And  now  look  at  him!  Why.  the 
old  josser  probably  lolled  in  his  own 
gas-bucker  and  bullied  a  shover.  And 
he  could  go  around  to  the  bull-pen  and 
hoot  at  the  cops. 

No  fanning  of  him  by  cheap  peelers 
and  town  constables.  It  all  came  from 
the  honest  lay — from  the  respectable 
road. 


THE  MOLL  BUZZER. 


677 


Well,  maybe  for  the  sake  of  the  old 
days,  that  back-door  foraging  and  self- 
denial,  Piatt  would  wise  him  to  how 
the  road  was  traveled. 

He  would  go  through  with  the  thing, 
anyway.  If  he  could  do  no  better,  he 
might  con  Piatt  into  kicking  in  with  a 
few  iron  men  for  his  general  mainte- 
nance, or  he  might  pipe  the  line-up 
around  the  offices  with  an  eye  to  a  little 
transom  work  and  desk  jimmying. 

But  the  mere  thought  of  such  des- 
perate criminality  made  the  rabbit- 
hearted  Moll  sicken  with  terror. 

Hencher  slunk  past  the  uniformed 
attendant  at  the  door  of  the  office 
building,  and  tried  to  efface  himself  in 
a  far  corner  of  the  elevator  on  his  ride 
to  the  twelfth  floor  indicated  on  the 
Perrin  business  card. 

He  had  a  deep-rooted  aversion  to 
uniforms,  even  on  elevator  pilots. 
Blue  or  gray,  with  braid  and  brass- 
buttons,  always  seemed  tuned  to  the 
jingling  of  keys  and  clanging  of  locks. 

Besides,  the  elevator  door  had  a  way 
of  snapping  like  a  greedy  steel  jaw — 
the  jaw  of  stir,  for  instance. 

A  few  beads  of  sweat  stood  out  on 
Hencher's  mere  sample  of  a  forehead, 
and  he  jammed  the  low-crowned  derby 
still  further  over  his  eyes.  He  was  far 
from  happy  as  he  sidled  and  edged 
along  the  corridor  and  eased  through 
a  door  on  which  was  printed  in  letters 
of  impressive  size : 


ROBERT  J.  PERRIN  &  CO. 
Investments 


u  Glad  to  see  you,  Henshaw !  Henry, 
show  the  gentleman  into  my  private 
office.    Ill  be  with  you  in  a  moment, 

Mr.  Henshaw." 

Inside  and  alone,  Hencher  gaped 
at  his  surroundings. 

The  easy  chairs,  the  directors*  table, 
the  desk  as  big  as  a  concert  piano,  the 
rugs,  hat  -  racks  —  everything  modern 
and  expensive  got  under  his  tough 
hide.  What  a  vast  difference  there  \va< 
in  all  this  from  the  meager  pilfering 
of  housemaids  and  jostling  of  women 
already  burdened  with  bundles  and 
babies ! 

A  settlement  worker  had  once  ear- 
nestly endeavored  to  chisel  into  the 
Moll's  flinty  head  the  admonition  that 
"  Honesty  is  the  best  policy." 

He  had  insisted  in  his  dull  defense 
that  if  men  were  only  honest  because 
it  was  the  best  policy,  they  were  not 
necessarily  honest  at  heart.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  merely  being  upright 
through  fear  of  the  law  or  public  cen- 
sure did  not  constitute  genuine  recti- 
tude. 

Had  he  been  writing  that  phrase  he 
would  have  put  it.  "  Honesty  is  the 
right  policy." 

But  now  he  was  convinced  that 
probity,  integrity  and  fairness  paid 
dividends.  There  were  financial  and 
moral  gains  not  to  be  overlooked. 
Chicanery,  deception,  theft,  and  fraud 
were  the  handmaidens  of  poverty  and 
misery. 

Why,  the  whole  tiling  was  exempli- 
fied in  the  personalities  of  Dave  Hen- 
cher. thief,  and  Robert  J.  Perrin. 
broker.  They  had  started  over  dif- 
ferent  paths    from   the   same  chain- 

Both  were  thirty-eight  years  old, 
and — now  look  at  them! 

Hencher  was  hard-pressed  to  dis- 
pose of  his  derby.  It  did  not  loom  as 
a  suitable  decoration  on  the  office  rug. 
nor  on  a  near-by  chair,  and  he  would 
not  have  crossed  that  room  to  one  of 
the  hat-racks  —  no.  not  for  a  moll's 
hand-bag  full  of  greens! 

So  he  laid  the  greasy  head-gear  on 


Ah,  right  on  time,  Mr.  Henshaw. 
I  see,"  smiled  Perrin  or  Piatt,  speak- 
ing over  the  head  of  a  stenographer  at 
whose  side  he  had  been  standing  when 
the  Moll  came  in,  blinking  at  the  opu- 
lent array  pf  counters,  cages,  desks, 
filing  cabinets,  clerks,  and  office  boys. 

Perrin  put  a  significant  emphasis  on 
the  Henshaw."  implying  that  the 
Moll-rose  by  another  name  would  be 
much  sweeter. 


673 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


the  open  desk,  and  in  doing  so  his  eyes 
bugged  out  at  sight  of  a  thin  stack  of 
biUs  beneath  a  round  glass  paper- 
weight. 

"A  plant!  Framin'  fer  me,  eh?" 
he  sneered  as  he  noted  another  door 
evidently  leading  out  into  the  corridor. 
"  Thinks  1*11  tall  fer  th'  small  bunch  o' 
lettuce.  Mix  on  that!  Gee,  if  th' crib's 
Worth  anyt'ing.  it'll  do  better  th'n 
that !  " 

Fur  live  minutes,  plenty  of  time  to 
make  a  getaway,  he  sat  eying  the 
money  and  tilting  in  his  chair.  Then 
Perrin  came  in  breezily,  nonchalantly 
tucked  the  bait  in  a  vest-pocket,  hand- 
ed over  a  fat  cigar  which  looked  to 
have  cost  about  as  much  as  the  buzzer's 
shoes,  lit  one  himself,  and  began: 

■"  Now.  we'll  not  be  disturbed.  Dave, 
so  listen  me  out.  please.  You  don't 
appear  overfed,  overdressed  or  over- 
prosperous  Evidently  you  haven't 
done  well.  That's  the  fault  of  your 
system  It  doesn't  pay." 
'  '1  So  it  don't.  Plait— .Mr.  Perrin." 
The  Moll  looked  around  apprehen- 
sively as  if  large  ears  might  have  heard 
his  break.  "  I  got  two  years  wunst  fer 
friskin'  ninety  cents  f'om  th'  pocket  of 
a  dame  that  looked  like  she'd  be  good 
fer  ninety  thousand." 

That my  point,"  continued  Per- 
rin. grandly  flicking  the  ash  from  his 
cigar  with  a  be  jeweled  finger  and 
daintily  lifting  a  lint  speck  from  his 
lapel.  "  I  never  exactly  tried  it  :  mere- 
ly fell  in  with  a  crooked  l..t  for  a  time 
— and  you  helped  me  out. 

"  Now,  I  might  contend  that  this 
morning's  stunt  squared  matters,  but 
really  1  ran  no  risk.  X..  one  would 
have  inspected  Robert  J.  Perrin.  even 
without  the  porketbo. >k  trick.  Why. 
I  number  among  my  clients  at  least 
two  dozen  women  heads  of  depart- 
ments in  that  store. 

"  Now,  I've  decided,  if  y..u're  will- 
ing, of  course,  to  give  you  a  chance  at 
the  straight  road — the  one  1  have  trav- 
eled. It  may  be  just  a  whim,  but  it's 
going  through.  The  thing  pays  in  dig- 
nity, respectability— and  funds.  When 


you  arrive  you  are  looked  up  to  and 
esteemed;  your  name  becomes  a  great 

asset. 

"  However  " — as  an  afterthought — 
"  speaking  of  names,  I  think  the  Hen- 
shaw  of  the  outer  office  will  be  better 
than  the  Hencher  of  the  past." 

"  Anyt'ing'll  be  better  th'n  th'  moll- 
buzzer,"  gulped  Hencher.  **  It's  a 
snide  monniker.  Mr.  P-Perrin.  But 
how  d'ye  know  I  won't  snitch  on  you 
fer  that  past  yer  speakin'  of  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  hadn't  given  it  a  thought. 
But  no  one  would  believe  you,  Dave. 
You  could  blat  it  from  the  Battery  to 
the  Bronx  and  you  couldn't  get  one 
rise  a  day,  although  you  might  get  a 
fall-back  for  blackmail. 

"  However,  I'm  expecting  you  to  be 
grateful,  thankful.  You'll  be  a  sort  of 
helper  around  the  office — whatever 
you  can  do  at  the  start.  Your  pay  will 
be  ample,  sufficient.  You'll  get  a  de- 
cent room  and  decent  clothes. 

"  I  could  do  the  story-book  act  and 
hand  you  over  the  money  " — tapping 
the  vest-pocket  loftily — "  but  I  prefer 
to  see  you  earn  it.  Sometimes  I  may 
.give  you  little  confidential  jobs,  but  " 
— shaking  an  admonitory  finger — "  no 
moll-buzzing.  We  have  a  dozen  or  so 
girl  employees  and  hundreds  of  callers 
— mostly  women — every  day. 

"  Don't  let  the  hand-bags  or  other 
articles  of  virtu  get  you  down.  Keep 
straight,  follow  me.  do  as  I  have  done, 
and  some  day  David  Henshaw  may  be 
quite  as  prosperous  and  well-to-do  as 
one  Dave  Hencher  was  notorious  and 
ne'er-do-well." 

Perrin's  delicately  manicured  finger 
pushed  a  button  and  something  in  a 
uniform  bounced  through  the  door. 
Hencher.  gurgling  his  surprise,  started 
to  his  feet,  but  slumped  back  into  his 
chair  when  he  perceived  it  was  only 
an  office  boy. 

"Henry."  explained  Perrin,  "this 
is  Mr.  David  Henshaw.  who  will  take 
charge  of  the  letter-press  and  the  cir- 
cular and  pamphlet  room.  You  will 
show  him  what  there  is  to  be  done." 

As  the  Moll  gathered  his  soiled 


THE  MOLL  BUZZER. 


679 


chapeau  under  his  arm  and  departed 
from  the  philanthropic  Perrin's  pres- 
ence, he  leaned  over  and  whispered : 

"  Gee.  Piatt — I  can't  get  hep  t'  these 
uniforms!  I  t'ought  you'd  called  th' 
harness  bulls." 

For  ten  days  the  Moll,  in  his  incom- 
petent, haphazard  and  low-browed 
way.  puttered  around  the  offices  of 
Robert  J.  Perrin,  investment  broker. 
But  what  he  lacked  in  efficiency  he 
made  up  in  zeal. 

Each  morning  he  was  waiting  in  the 
corridor  when  the  door  was  opened. 
At  night  he  almost  had  to  be  evicted 
by  the  janitor. 

Either  his  soul  was  in  his  efforts  or 
he  hoped  to  find  himself  at  some  time 
the  sole  occupant  of  the  rooms,  with 
principal  eye  to  the  cashier's  cage  and 
vault. 

The  latter  seemed  to  occupy  most  of 
his  thoughts.  He  gazed  rapidly  at  the 
important  looking  books  and  the  more 
satisfactory  heaps  of  currency  which 
disappeared  into  it  of  evenings  and  re- 
appeared next  morning,  the  books  to 
be  scattered  over  desks  while  the  cash 
was  arranged  in  imposing  stacks  on 
the  glass  counter  of  the  cage. 

Once  the  cashier  remonstrated  with 
him. 

"  Your  place  is  in  the  mailing  room, 
Henshaw.  There  is  nothing  around 
the  vault  that  could  possibly  interest 
you  except  the  combination  —  and 
that's  only  known  to  Mr.  Perrin  and 
myself." 

"  T  wasn't  pipin'  th'  crib."  grumbled 
Hencher,  falling  hack  on  his  old 
jargon. 

Then,  as  the  cashier  moved  away 
with  a  smirk  at  his  own  low  wit : 

41  Th'  old  josser!  Poof  fer  him — 
he  wears  cuffs !  " 

After  the  first  week  the  Moll  blos- 
somed forth  in  cheap  but  gaudy  im- 
provements. 

With  Perrin  as  a  model,  he  went  in 
for  a  tin-shirt;  he  installed  a  white 
piping  in  the  collar  of  his  vest ;  a  pair 
of  gray  spats  concealed  much  of  his 
decrepit  shoes.    His  suit  was  pressed, 

I 


and  he  affected  an  article  which  looked 
more  like  a  hat  than  the  sad-eyed  derby 
which  he  consigned  to  a  trash-can. 

He  had  the  fringe  of  mousy  hair 
harvested  from  around  his  ears,  and 
three  shaves  grew  where  one  had 
sufficed  before. 

Really  the  Moll,  at  small  outlay,  was 
arriving  with  a  bound;  and  Perrin, 
rather  grandiloquently  though,  com- 
plimented him  on  his  neater  appear- 
ance. 

One  afternoon,  while  observing  the 
results  of  his  work  at  a  letter-press,  he 
spelled  his  way  through  several  sen- 
tences of  an  outgoing  communication. 

The  Moll's  early  education  had  been 
somewhat  neglected — his  lather  hov- 
ering too  close  to  a  corner  saloon, 
while  his  mother,  in  her  turn,  had 
hovered  too  close  to  an  eternally  "active 
washtub.  This  had  not  made  for  class- 
pins,  but  Dave,  after  a  fashion,  could 
bludgeon  and  blast  his  way  through 
plain,  typewritten  English. 

And  so  he  read : 

Dkar  .Mak\.m  : 

We  note  what  you  say  about  the  invest- 
ment of  two  thousand  dollars  made  two 
years  ago,  with  your  statement  that  it  has 
brought  no  dividends  as  yet.  In  reply  we 
wish  to  assure  you  that  extensive  develop- 
ment work  on  the  properties  in  question 
has  cut  down  the  net  profits  far  beyond  a 
dividend  paying  point. 

However,  such  improvements  have 
been  economically  and  ably  installed  and 
are  real  and  permanent  assets  to  the  stock- 
holders. 

W  hile  the  stock  has  depreciated  great- 
ly since  you  invested — and  will  hardly  pay 
dividends  within  the  next  few  years — we 
can  say,  speaking  for  the  directors  and  not 
on  our  own  responsibility,  of  course, 
that — 

Hencher  walked  over  to  a  stenog- 
rapher, who  seemed  the  most  amiable 
of  the  office  force  because  she  had 
nodded  pleasantly  each  morning,  and 
asked  : 

"  What  is  this  t'ing,  anyway,  miss?" 

"Oh,  the  letter:1"  holding  out  her 
hand  for  it.  '•  You  are  to  make  two 
copies,  Henshaw." 


680 


ALL-STORY  WEEKLY. 


"  Yeh.  I  know  about  th'  letter,  miss. 
T  mean  this  t  ing."  He  waved  his  hand 
to  include  the  Perrin  quarters,  hie 
room,  vault,  and  private  offices.  "  You 
know — this  dump." 

"  Why.  an  investment  office.  Hen- 
shaw."  "the  lady  smiled  indulgently, 
wondering  where  Perrin  had  found 
what  appeared  to  be  only  a  simple,  un- 
sophisticated worker. 

"Who  invests,  miss?"  Henshaw 
leaned  two  yellow  fists  on  the  desk  and 
peered  at  her  from  a  pair  of  dark  eyes 
sunk  in  sallow  cheeks. 

Anybody  with  money.  I  suppose." 
Then,  returning  to  her  work.  ;  Why 
don't  you  ask  fir.  Perrin?  Or  maybe 
you'd 'better  not.  I  don't  think  he'd 
"like  your  cross-examination." 

At  another  time  he  read  almost 
through  a  sheet  which  ran : 

M  adam  : 

We  have  learned  from  the  Big  Brother 
Insurance  Company  that  you  will  receive 
within  the  next  few  days  five  thousand  dol- 
lars as  insurance  following  the  sad  death 
of  vour  husband.  We  knew  him  in  life, 
and  are  certain  that  were  he  here  to-day 
we  need  only  refer  to  him  concerning  our 
business  standing  and  resources. 

Realizing  that  you  will  be  looking  for 
permanent  and  profitable  investment,  we 
solicit  your  consideration  of — 

There  followed  a  glowing  eulogy  of 
the  very  business  properties  against 
which  the  former  investor's  com- 
plaints had  been  aimed. 

Even  the  dwarfed  intellect  of  the 
Moll  could  embrace  the  fact  that,  while 
one  woman  had  lamented  a  paucity  of 
returns  from  her  money,  the  Perrin 
agency  was  still  actively  engaged  in 
crowding  the  same  stock  onto  others 
at  a  fancy  figure,  insisting  that  it 
would  pay  amazingly. 

Thereupon  the  Moll  became  even 
more  inquisitive,  certainly  more  inter- 
ested in  the  money  which  fell  into  the 
vault  in  currency  Hakes  and  was  carted 
l"  the  bank  in  currency  drifts. 

He  opened  letters  as  he  had  once 
opened  hand-bags,  and  pried  into  their 
contents  quite  as  eagerly  as  if  they 
were  leathers  which  he  was  examining 


in  the  privacy  of  a  convenient  alley. 
And  for  one  of  such  shallow  brain- 
pan, he  learned  much,  even  while  he 
kept  away  from  the  traps  of  small 
financial  bait  which  Perrin  and  the 
cashier,  who  evidently  acted  on  in- 
structions, frequently  set  for  him. 

He  was  not  to  be  tempted  by  petty 
cheese.  He  knew  they  were  trying 
him.  and  he  also  knew  that  if  he  de- 
cided to  grab  it  would  be  at  dollars 
instead  of  pennies. 

The  two  facts  that  soaked  in  deep- 
est were  that  few  men  came  to  the 
cashier's  window  and  few  letters  went 
forth  to  men.  unless  it  might  have  been 
to  attorneys  who  had  protested  in 
behalf  of  clients. 

Generally — almost  always — the  vis- 
itors were  women — women  of  a  cer- 
tain shabby  and  somber  black,  with 
careworn,  sorrowful  faces  and  eyes 
that  looked  out  as  through  a  constant, 
tearful  mist. 

Also  the  printed  circulars  in  the 
mailing  room  sent  pleas  to  investing 
women  rather  than  to  men,  telling  of 
wise  ways  in  which  to  invest  insurance 
moneys,  inheritances,  the  savings  from 
salaries  earned  in  stores,  offices,  work- 
shops, and  even  kitchens.  The  address- 
ing machine,  at  which  the  Moll  labored 
much  of  the  time,  contained  the  title 
of  Miss  or  Mrs.  a  dozen  times  where 
it  held  a  Mr.  once. 

At  intervals,  too.  the  Moll  had  heard 
words  other  than  friendly  at  the  cash- 
ier's window,  and  on  several  occasions 
from  Perrin's  inner  office  had  leaked 
damp  sounds  as  of  tears  and  sobby 
protestations.  But  the  others  of  the 
force  seemed  to  have  no  ears,  so  the 
Moll  ditl  not  worry  his  head  greatly, 
although  he  did  shake  it  often  enough 
and  vigorously. 

On  the  afternoon  of  his  tenth  day 
ITencher  was  busy  sealing  and  stamp- 
ing some  of  Perrin's  private  mail.  The 
work  was  being  done  under  the  watch- 
ful eye  of  the  boss,  who  had  taken  a 
keen  and  very  secret  interest  in  the 
preparation  of  the  letters  and  in  the 
list  of  people  to  whom  they  were  to  go. 


THE  MOLL  BUZZER. 


6S1 


"  This  is  a  private  drag.  Dave," 
Perrin  explained.  "  I  don't  want  the 
1  company  '  to  know  of  it." 

Hencher  had  never  seen  the  "  com- 
pany "  alluded  to  on  the  door  plate, 
although  he  had  understood  the  word 
to  apply  to  a  wealthy  citizen  who  came 
rarely  to  the  office  and  was  interested 
in  other  concerns  of  similar  nature. 

*  I'm  putting  it  through  myself  as  a 
side-line,"  ran  on  Perrin.  "  I  expect 
you  to  keep  quiet.  I  can't  always  trust 
the  stenographers  and  the  others  to  do 
that.  Some  way,  I  fancy  they'd  bite 
me  if  I  ever  permitted  them  to  grow 
sharp  teeth." 

"  Aw,  I'm  no  snitch,"  mumbled  the 
Moll  from  over  a  stamp-glued  tongue. 
"  Either  way,  it  ain't  no  time  off  my 
term." 

The  door  opened  with  a  pop  and  a 
woman  came  hurriedly  into  the  inner 
office.  Her  face  was  flushed  as  from 
the  excitement  of  some  daring  deed. 
A  black  veil  was  pushed  back  over  the 
brim  of  a  black  hat.  A  shiny  dress, 
inexpensive  and  in  a  past  style,  cov- 
ered her  scant  figure. 

Black  gloves  and  shoes  made  her  a 
veritable  woman  in  black,  except  for 
the  color  of  her  cheeks  and  the  gray 
flash  from  her  eyes. 

Perrin  half  leaped  from  his  chair, 
his  face  red  as  the  carnation  he  per- 
sistently sported  in  his  lapel.  Con- 
trolling the  mingled  anger  and  frustra- 
tion which  showed  in  his  eyes,  he 
greeted  her  affably  enough. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Erhardt,  good  after- 
noon! Did  the  boy  show  you  in?" 
The  last  with  just  a  taint  of  rebuke. 

'*  He  did  not,  Mr.  Robert  J.  Perrin 
&  Co. !  "  snapped  the  visitor,  going  at 
once  into  battle.  "  I  walked  in  with- 
out any  boy.  I've  cooled  my  heels  out- 
side, with  a  grinning  boy  staring  at  me, 
the  last  time  I  intend  to." 

"Very  well,  Mrs.  Erhardt;  we 
needn't  get  excited,"  calmed  the  suave 
Perrin.  "  I  didn't  know  you  had  been 
refused  admission,  I  can  assure  you. 
Henshaw,  you  may  leave  the  letters 
for  a  while." 


"  Let  the  man  stay,"  ordered  the 
truculent  Mrs.  Erhardt.  "  He  looks 
honest  enough.  It  will  do  me  good  to 
see  one  honest  male  around." 

"  This  will  never  do,"  smiled  the 
broker,  nervously  motioning  Dave 
back  to  his  task.  "  Now,  what  is  the 
trouble,  my  dear  Mrs.  Erhardt?  " 

"  Just  this,  Mr.  Perrin — and  don't 
'  dear  '  me.  I've  been  here  four  times 
— yes,  half  a  dozen — to  find  out  why 
I  never  have  received  any  returns 
from  that  precious  stock  you  coaxed 
and  cajoled  me  into  buying.  And  not 
once  have  I  been  allowed  in  this  office 
until  I  opened  that  gate,  pushed  the 
boy  aside,  and  came  in. 

"  Now  I  want  to  know,  and  I'm 
going  to  wait  for  the  information.  You 
and  your  fine-worded  letters !  I'd  be 
willing  to  guess  that  man  over  there — 
the  fellow  with  the  honest  face  —  is 
mailing  some  of  them  out  right  now." 

Hencher's  cheeks  took  on  a  faint 
salmon  color.  Blushing  was  not  his 
strongest  point,  but  he  knew  the  wom- 
an had  spoken  the  truth.  The  letters 
were  being  sent  to  the  nearest  female 
relatives  of  a  score  of  men  who  had 
been  killed  in  a  building  collapse  and 
on  whose  claims  the  contracting  firm 
had  decided  to  settle. 

"  You  know  very  well."  the  visitor 
pursued,  "  that  your  letters  promised 
me  big  dividends.  And  you  know  it 
was  the  only  money  I  had  to  support 
my  childen.  You  said  you  knew  my 
husband  and  wanted  to  help  me.  You 
have  been  a  tremendous  help.  I  must 
say!  Two  and  a  half  years,  and  I 
haven't  seen  a  cent.  I  can't  live,  and 
my  little  ones  can't  be  sent  to  school, 
on  promises. 

"  I  don*t  believe  my  husband  ever 
knew  you.  I'd  hate  to  think  that  of 
him,  anyway.  Now.  I  either  want 
satisfaction,  or  I'll  see  a  lawyer!  " 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Erhardt."  Perrin 
placated  speciously,  applying  the  term 
in  spite  of  the  woman's  angry  gesture, 
"  so  far  as  employing  an  attorney  is 
concerned,  let  me  assure  you  it  will 
only  be  an  added  expense.    I  haven't 


6*2 


ALL- STORY  .WEEKLY. 


your  monev.  It  went  for  the  stock 
which  you  purchased  in  a  perfectly 
legitimate  way  and  with  eyes  wide 
open.  You  received  the  certificates 
and  receipted  for  them.  Your  threats 
do  not  frighten.  I  may  as  well  tell 
you.M 

"  I  want  that  money — my  last  three 
hundred  dollars— you  have  it,"  in  a 
voice  which  was  rapidly  breaking  and 
mixing  with  tears.  u  It  s  here  some 
place — in  these  line  jimcracks."  wav- 
ing one  ot"  her  poorly  gloved  hands  at 
the  costly  furniture.  I  want  it!  I'll 
>ee  a  lawyer — or  maybe  you'd  prefer 
the  police?  " 

At  the  last  word  the  scarlet  tinge  in 
Ferrin's  cheeks  met  up  halt -way  with 
a  pallid  fear,  turning  his  face  to  a  sick- 
ly purple,  splotched  with  yellow.  But 
he  proceeded  with  his  explanations, 
while  his  white  hand  fell  as  softly  on 
the  jacket's  worn  sleeve  as  if  he  had 
been  smoothing  the  feathers  of  an 
angry  hen. 

Now,  don't  talk  about  unpleasant 
things  —  lawyers  and  —  police.  And 
you  don't  want  your  money,  either. 
Mr-.  Erhardt  —  not  the  principal,  at 
least.  Let's  say  you  want  your  divi- 
dends. Isn't  that  it?  Of  course  it  is. 
I  have  it  from  the  directors  of  Crested 
Butte  Consolidated  —  not  on  my  own 
say-so,  mark  you,  but  on  theirs — 
that  in  six  months  the  company  will  be 
in  such  shape  that  you'll  be  sorry  you 
ever  doubted  the  Stock." 

"  Oh,  is  that  a  promise,  Mr.  Per- 
rin?" cried  the  woman,  finally  burst- 
ing into  the  tears  which  had  been  but 
a  word  or  two  away  during  the  whole 
conversation.  "If  it  is — I  don't  mind 
the — the  hard  work  I'm  doing  to  keep 
the  ch-children  fed  and  clothed  and  in 
school.  But  I  c-can't  stand  the  grind 
another  day  unless  I  know — know  it's 
coining  right  in  the  end." 

"  Not  a  promise,''  reneged  Perrin 
hastily,  who  seemed  unable  to  part 
with  real  money,  "but  my  best  judg- 
ment." 

A  hand  reached  over  his  shoulder, 
picked  up  a  pen,  and  dipped  it  into  a. 


cut-glass  inkwell,  probably  as  expen- 
sive as  anything  in  the  Erhardt  home. 

The  Moll  explained  as  he  walked 
back  to  the  table :  u  One  o'  these  letters 
ain't  right ;  I'll  fix  it." 

Then  he  scratched  away  for  a  few 
seconds  while  the  visitor,  still  sobbing, 
gave  evidence  of  returning  to  her  first 
advantage. 

"  Well,  ihat  isn't  satisfactory,  Mr. 
Perrin.  It  was  your  judgment  that 
got  me  in;  and,  oh.  for  God's  sake — 
for  the  sake  of  my  babies — please  get 
me  out!  You  have  that  money.  It's 
here  some  place.    I  want  it." 

"  Are  y'  sure  o'  yer  man,  madam?  " 

The  words  were  spoken  as  the  Moll 
Buzzer  came  tor  the  second  time  from 
the  temporary  mailing  table.  Perrin 
paused  in  the  middle  of  a  calming 
reply,  started  in  surprise,  and  made  as 
if  to  motion  the  intruder  back. 

The  woman  answered: 

"What?  Of  course  I'm  sure! 
Didn't  I  hand  it  to  this  man  Perrin 
myself?    Didn't  I  see  him  take  it?" 

"  I  asked,  lady."  answered  the  Moll, 
as  if  repeating  something  he  had  mem- 
orized, "because  if  you're  so  sure  o' 
yer  ground,  what  have  y'  t'  say  t'  this 
check  for  three  hundred  dollars — your 
money?  Perrin  ain't  got  it.  I'm  th' 
one.  I'm  one  o'  them  directors  he's 
talkin'  about. 

"  Here's  yer  check,  ma'am.  Go  cash 
it  —  right  away  —  fer  them  there 
babies !  • 

The  woman  seized  the  slip,  eagerly 
assured  herself  that  it  set  forth  the 
things  described,  and  cried: 

"  Thank  God  for  an  honest  man ! 
I  knew  it !  " 

The  door  opened  and  closed  with  a 
slam.  Mrs.  Erhardt  was  gone,  but 
Perrin.  the  purple  departed  and  the 
red  again  in  his  angry  face,  turned  on 
the  Moll. 

"  Now  what  ?  Do  you  think  that's 
the  way  I  give  up  money?  What  do 
you  mean  ?  " 

"I  mean  just  this!"  screeched  the 
Moll,  back  at  his  place  and  his  fist 
coming    down    on    the    sealed  and 


THE  MOLL  BUZZER. 


683 


stamped  envelopes  with  a  thump 
which  made  Perrin  half  hop  out  of  his 
chair.  "  I  mean  that  you — you — can 
go  clean,  immac'lately,  c'nsecitively, 
an'  ev'ry  other  way.  plumb  t'  hell! 
Here's  where  I  quit  this  dump !  *' 

The  words  came  almost  as  loud  as 
the  table  blow. 

The  stubble  at  the  back  of  Hencher's 
head,  where  the  hair  was  cropped  close 
and  shaved  round,  seemed  to  stand  out 
like  hackles;  cheeks  that  had  long 
since  lost  the  art  of  flushing  turned 
drab  as  old  ashes;  drops  of  sweat 
stood  out  on  the  bulges  below  the  dark 
eyes  as  if  the  man  were  in  actual  physi- 
cal pain.  Again  he  whacked  the  top 
of  the  polished  table. 

"  Right  here's  where  I  blow  the 
joint!  See?" 

n  You  quit — you — you  quit  met" 
scoffed  Perrin,  coming  the  other  half 
out  of  his  seat.  He  started  with  a 
sneer,  but  ended  with  scorn  as  he  saw 
that  the  Moll  must  mean  what  he  was 
saying. 

u  That's  it,"  came  the  reply.  "  You 
did  me  a  good  turn  wunst,  an'  I've 
done  you  one  just  now.  That  was  a 
narrow  squeak — she'd  'a'  had  th'  bulls 
down  on  yuh.  'Sides,  she  ought  t'  had 
th'  money.  You  an'  me' re  square — an' 
I'm  through.  Through  an'  busted, 
too!    But  I'm  satisfied." 

"What's  the  idea.  Hencher?" 
growled  Perrin  in  a  milder  tone  as 
something  in  the  nature  of  a  great  light 
seemed  to  break  over  him.  "  I'll  ad- 
mit that  maybe  it  was  the  right  thing 
to  do.  But  for  me  to  have  given  her 
the  money  would  have  been  an  admis- 
sion of  guilt,  don't  you  see?  I'm 
obliged  to  you.    Now  calm  down." 

"  Don't  be  obliged  t'  me  fer  any- 
thing! "  bristled  Hencher.  "  I  want  t' 
quit  'thout  any  obbleegations." 

"  Oh,  don't  be  a  fool.  Hencher!  Be 
a  crook  if  you  must,  but  not  an  idiot. 
I've  had  enough  grand-stand  plays  for 
one  afternoon." 

"  Crook?  Idiot?  Who's  a  crook, 
Piatt?"  shouted  the  enraged  looter  of 
women.    Then,  noting  the  consterna- 


tion and  rising  temper  of  his  employ- 
er: "  Yes— Piatt!  Bob  Piatt!  An'  it 
goes.  You're  a  fine  one  t'  talk  about 
crooks!  Why,  you'd  climb  yer  own 
porch  t'  crack  yer  baby's  bank !  " 

"  Sit  down,  you  cheap  pickpocket, 

and  shut  up!    You  d  moll  buzzer, 

d'you  want  the  whole  building  to  hear 
you  ?  " 

"  They  wouldn't  be  su'prised," 
fumed  Hencher — "not  if  they've  got 
th'  sense  God  gave  a  goose.  An'  as 
fer  moll-buzzin',  I'm  here  t'  tell  you 
there's  more'n  one  kind  —  an'  I'm 
t'rough  with  this  kind.  Get  out  o'  me 
way.  Piatt!  Lemme  out!  This  dump 
stinks !  " 

"  So  that's  the  game?  "  husked 
Piatt,  his  hands  opening  and  closing 
and  his  face  twitching  in  tremendous 
wrath.  "  Blackmail,  eh  ?  You  think 
to  make  capital  by  peaching  about  those 
letters?  You're  out  for  a  snitch,  huh? 
You're  going  to  hold  me  up  on  that 
check?" 

"  I'm  not  a  snitch,  Piatt."  interrupt- 
ed the  Moll.  "  I  wouldn't  touch  a 
piece  o'  coin  'round  here  with  a  pair  o' 
tongs.  We're  quits!  No  more  wom- 
en's weeps  fer  me." 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  jeered  Perrin. 
"  The  old  crook  can't  stand  prosperity. 
The  dip  can't  toe  the  honest  mark. 
The  yegg  don't  care  for  respecta- 
bility. I  gave  you  a  chance  to  be  de- 
cent— " 

"Decent!  Honest!  Prosperity!" 
exploded  Hencher.  "That's  swell! 
I've  swallered  all  that  mush  I  want. 
Why,  you'd  frisk  yer  own  wife's 
leather !   Let  me  out !  " 

"  Well,  then,  get  back  to  your 
burgling  of  housemaids  and  your  bar- 
gain-counter rushes !  "  cried  Perrin, 
stepping  to  one  side  and  pointing  to- 
ward the  door.  "  Git !  Back  to  the 
moll-buzzing!  " 

"Not  on  yer  life,  Piatt!  Not  on 
yer  slick  face  an'  dolled  up  hands!" 
flouted  Hencher,  jerking  the  door 
open  and  turning  for  a  parting  blast. 
"  Here's  where  I — go  /'  work!  Me  fer 
a  job!   D'ye  get  me?  " 


(TKe yYl&r\=eeier 

if  Anne  "Warner 

Awlfco*  of  "  StiMn  CUg«."  "  Thm  RciuT.n.iion  ol  Awl  Mmrr."     Sua«kia«  J*»«."  »t<..  •»•. 

SYNOPSIS   OF   PRECEDING  CHAPTERS 

NIX  A  DARLING,  wife-  of  Colonel  Darling,  an  English  officer  in  the  Indian  service, 
enters  into  a  rrblftnt  flirtation  with  Gerald  Andrews,  of  the  civil  service;  but 
Vthen,  it  |  dance  at  the  viceregal  lodge  in  Simla,  he  pleads  with  her  to  "bolt"  with 
hun.  she  laughs  at  him  and  tells  him  coldly  that  she  always  tires  of  men  when  they 
begin  to  get  serious.  She  also  coolly  confesses  that  the  only  man  she  really  loves  is 
not  her  husband,  but  a  man  whom  every  one  has  for  years  thought  to  be  dead.  Later, 
Andrews  identifies  this  man  as  Nina's  cousin,  and,  at  the  time  of  his^  disappearance, 
her  fiancee.  Lord  Harry  Kneedrock.  who  was  reported  killed  at  Spion  Kop  in  the  Boer 
War,  his  body  being  identified  by  Colonel  Darling  himself. 

Kneedrock  turns  up  unexpectedly  and  Nina  meets  him  at  the  bungalow  of  an 
Anu-rican  friend,  a  Mrs.  Sibylla  Ramsay.  She  begs  him  to  take  her  away,  but  having 
discovered  her  affair  with  Andrews,  he'  contemptuously  refuses.  That  night,  while  in 
his  gun-room,  Darling  is  shot  dead.  The  official  verdict  is  "  death  by  accident."  but 
popular  gossip  is  divided  between  the  theories  of  suicide  and  murder  by  either  Nina 
or  Kneedrock.  Nina  returns  to  England,  where  after  a  number  of  more  or  less  seri- 
ous flirtations,  all  ending  disastrously  for  the  men.  she  starts  a  still  more  furious  one 
with  Sir  Caryll  Carleigh.  whose  engagement  to  an  American  girl.  Miss  Rosamond 
Veynol,  has  recently  been  broken.  The  country-house  where  Nina,  Kneedrock.  and 
Carleigh  are  visiting  is  burned  to  the  ground,  and  Nina  is  terribly  injured:  if  she 
recovers  at  all.  it  is  said,  she  will  be  horribly  disfigured.  The  guests  all  seek  refuge  at 
a  near-by  estate;  there  Carleigh  is  sitting  at  the  breakfast  table  when  the  door  opens 
and  Rosamond  Veynol  enters. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
Fate's  Fearful  Ingenuity. 

OSAMOXD  yEYXOU 
stopped  short  just  inside 
the  door  and  every  vestige 
of  color  left  her  face. 

Everybody  rememl>ered 
then,   and   everybody  was 
scared.    It  was  a  tryingly 
dramatic  moment. 

Carleigh,  astounded  and  greatly  con- 
fused, half  rose  in  his  place  and  bowed 
slightly  and  awkwardly.  Miss  Veynol 
bent  her  head  without  looking  at  him. 
The  Countess  of  Cross  Saddle  pre- 
tended to  know  or  notice  nothing. 
One  man  whistled  under  stress  of 


the  moment  and  then  turned  deeply 
crimson.  The  butler,  who  knew  de- 
tails of  which  all  his  superiors  were 
naturally  ignorant — he  being  a  regu- 
lar reader  of  British  Society — let  fall 
a  muffin  cover. 

And  then,  suddenly,  everybody  per- 
ceived that  the  only  space  left  vacant 
at  table  was  the  space  next  to  Carleigh, 
and  saw  with  horror  that  one  of  the 
men  who  knew  nothing  had  pushed  a 
chair  in  there  for  the  newcomer. 

.Miss  Veynol  looked  waveringly 
about.    The  countess  choked. 

"  Of  course  you  two  are  old 
friends —  *'  she  began. 

And  then,  her  tongue  cleaving  to 
the   roof   of   her   mouth,   she  rose 


Thi«  atory  began  in  the  All-Story  Weekly  for  May  15. 

684 


THE  MAN-EATER. 


680 


hastily,  stammered  something  quite 
unintelligible  about  the  injured  woman 
upstairs,  and  precipitately  fled. 

"  I  had  better  go  too,'*  Carleigh 
murmured,  starting  to  rise.  "  I — 
I —  "  He  would  have  sold  his  soul 
to  be  able  to  say,  "  am  betrothed  to 
Mrs.  Darling."  But  he  wasn't  sure 
she  was  going  to  die,  and  so  he  didn't 
dare. 

Xevill  Dalgries.  who  had  the  place 
on  the  other  side  of  him,  and  being  a 
good  friend,  was  awfully  sorry,  put 
out  a  strong  hand  and  pulled  him  back 
into  his  seat  again. 

"  You  can't  do  anything,  old  man," 
he  said  with  a  roughness  that  was 
kindness.    "  Finish  your  tea." 

And  at  that  instant  Rosamond  sank 
into  the  proffered  seat  beside  him.  So 
there  they  sat,  side  by  side,  those  two, 
one  blazing  red.  one  deathly  white, 
silent  and  constrained. 

And  all  the  rest  at  the  breakfast- 
table  talked  feverishly  and  painfully 
with  a  haste  and  loudness  that  ap- 
peared to  them  obligatory. 

Those  who  watched  say  that  Sir 
Caryll  drank  his  tea  and  ate  two  slices 
of  buttered  toast,  and  that  Miss  Vey- 
nol  spooned  an  egg  without  upsetting 
the  cup;  which  may  be  perfectly  true, 
though  neither  he  nor  she  was  aware 
of  doing  any  such  thing. 

What  they  did  they  did  subcon- 
sciously, their  conscious  minds  being 
very  much  otherwise  engaged.  One 
thing  is  certain,  however,  and  that  is 
that  neither  of  them  spoke,  until,  hap- 
pening to  look  up.  Carleigh  saw  that 
everybody  else  had  got  up  and  got  out 
and  left  them  quite  alone. 

He  felt  then  that  he  simply  had  to 
say  something,  and  so  he  said,  as  so 
often  happens,  the  one  thing  that  he 
shouldn't  have  said.  He  asked  :  "  Is 
your  mother  here?" 

Miss  Veynp]  looked  down,  shivered 
slightly,  rose,  and  moved  over  to  a 
window.  Carleigh  rose  too  and  fol- 
lowed her. 

"  Mama  is  in  Ireland,"  she  an- 
swered at  length,  in  a  low,  sweet  voice. 


"  She  told  me  before  she  went — 
she —  "    Then  she  stopped. 

He  threw  his  gaze  over  her  from 
head  to  feet.  He  felt  bitter  and 
scornful,  and  yet  the  memorie> 
crowded  fast.  After  all,  she  was  very 
lovely,  and — odd  how  he  had  seen  her 
face  early  this  very  morning  when  for 
all  he  knew  he  was  dropping  to  his 
death ! 

"  What  do  you  think  of  me.  any- 
way? "  he  asked  at  length.  "  What  is 
your  final  opinion  of  us  all  three?" 

She  looked  up  at  him.  All  her  shy- 
ness seemed  suddenly  gone.  Her  eyes 
met  his  fearlessly.  Yet  her  voice  was 
very  low  as  she  said:  "  I  think  that 
you  love  mama." 

Of  course  she  would  think  that.  If 
she  had  ever  doubted  it  his  question 
uttered  a  minute  ago  on  their  re- 
meeting  must  have  convinced  her. 

He  took  a  backward  step  and  drew 
in  his  breath.  Up-stairs  Xina  was  dy- 
ing perhaps.  On  every  hand  fortune 
seemed  bent  on  breaking  with  him. 
He  was  lashed,  stung,  crumpled.  He 
looked  at  her  and  truth  cowered 
naked. 

"  Not  at  all."  he  said  with  biting 
emphasis.  "  Perhaps  people  talk  that 
and  you  believe  it.  But  I've  never 
thought  of  such  a  thing.  I  have  of- 
fered myself  to  Mrs.  Darling,  and 
I've  given  her  your  ring." 

He  paused  expectant:  but  Rosa- 
mond just  stared  at  him. 

Then  he  walked  out  of  the  room, 
hurt  and — rather  frightened. 

It  had  been  one  of  those  fearfully 
ingenious  tricks  of  Fate  which  she 
deals  out  in  such  a  startlingly  unex- 
pected manner — this  meeting  with  his 
whilom  fiancee. 

Chasing  the  woman  who  had  the 
power  to  make  him  forget,  only  to  be 
abruptly  thrust,  in  the  very  midst  of 
it.  under  the  same  roof  with  her  he 
was  striving  never  to  remember,  was 
malevolent  cruelty.  And  it  was  very 
awful. 

Yes,  it  would  have  been  much  bet- 
ter had  he  slept  five  minutes  longer. 


686 


ALL- STORY  .WEEKLY. 


Then  there  would  have  been  no  es- 
cape, and  his  troubles  would  have  been 

over. 

CHAPTER  XX 
Fires  of  One  Kind  and  Another. 

IT  was  a  very  miserable  morning  for 
Carleigh.  It  was  pretty  miserable 
for  every  one.  seeing  that  things 
w  ere  all  at  "sixes  and  sevens  owing  to 
the  enforced  mingling  of  two  house 
parties;  but  the  young  baronet,  with 
counter  emotions  tearing  things  apart 
deep  down  in  the  soul  of  him,  found 
it  especially  so. 

Out-of-doors  was  quite  impossible. 
The  heavy  clouds  were  unloading  their 
burden  in  a  drenching  downpour. 
Some  brave  one  proposed  a  tramp  to 
Car  fen  and  a  search  of  the  cooling 
ruin-,  but  found  so  few  volunteers 
that  the  project  was  given  over. 

Bridge  games  were  started  in  both 
the  red  and  yellow  drawing-rooms. 
P.lissmore,  the  novelist,  had  induced 
Nevill  Dalgries  to  oppose  him  at  chess, 
and  the  pair  sat  in  silent  concentration 
over  board  and  men  in  the  library 

For  a  long  while  Sir  Caryll  hung 
about  the  hall  in  expectation  of  a  word 
with  Dr.  Dodson  on  his  morning 
visit :  only  to  learn  after  something 
like  two  hours  of  waiting  that  the 
medical  man  had  come  and  gone  dur- 
ing that  period  of  agony  in  the  break- 
fast-room. 

Nevertheless'  there  was  some  mea- 
sure of  relief  for  him  in  the  tidings 
thai  Dodson  had  pronounced  his 
patient  improving  steadily. 

Julian  Archdeacon  had  told  him 
thU.  having  had  it  direct  from  Cecile. 
"  Tic  doesn't  say  that  Nina's  out  of 
danger;  but  he  does  say  that  with  a 
continued  absence  of  fresh  symptoms 
she  very  soon  will  be." 

Carlcigh  sighed  and  a  faint  color 
tinged  his  wan  pallor.  He  had  been 
pallid  as  a  ghost  ever  since  he  told 
Miss  Veynol  alx.ut  the  ring.  "If  I 
could  only  see  her,"  he  muttered.  . 


But  Julian  thought  that  quite  im- 
possible. 

"  It's  mostly  shock,  don't  you 
know."  he  said,  "  and  everything  de- 
pends on  keeping  her  quiet." 

The  relief,  small  as  it  was,  was  not 
lasting.  When  he  had  flung  that  final 
ill-considered  speech  at  Rosamond  he 
had  really  believed  Nina's  case  hope- 
less. 

If  she  got  well  Rosamond  would 
l>e  sure  to  learn  that  what  he  said 
wasn't  true,  and  she  would  probably 
hate  him  all  the  more  for  it.  There- 
fore it  was  actually  imperative  that  he 
have  a  word  with  Mrs.  Darling  at  the 
very  earliest  opportunity. 

"  I  mean  to  ask  Dr.  Dodson,  at  all 
events,*'  he  said.  "  When  will  he  be 
here  again?  " 

The  Honorable  Julian  didn't  know. 
He  might  be  over  in  the  afternoon; 
and  then,  just  as  likely  he  might  not 
be  over  until  evening. 

"  Waldron  i<;  burned  worse  than 
was  thought."  he  added.  "  He  never 
gave  a  sign,  and  yet  he  must  have 
been  suffering  torments.  His  self- 
command  was  nothing  short  of  Spar- 
tan." 

But  at  this  Carleigh  frowned. 

"  We  have  thought  best  to  wire  for 
his  wife.*'  Archdeacon  added. 

"His  wife!"  exclaimed  Caryll. 

*'  Yes.  Good  little  woman.  Does 
a  lot  of  slum  work  in  London,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  you  know.  Time 
was  too  much  taken  up  to  come  down 
with  him." 

So  here  was  a  measure  of  relief 
from  another  quarter. 

"  Did  you  wire  for  any  of  Mrs. 
Darling's  people?  " 

"  No.  She  didn't  want  any  one. 
We  suggested  sending  for  the  duke 
and  duchess.  But  the  idea  only  ex- 
cited her.  Then  we  thought  of 
Kneedrock.  He's  a  cousin,  you  know, 
and  a  sort  of  next-of-kin  protector 
and  adviser.  But  she  wouldn't  have 
him  at  any  price.  Gritty  little  wom- 
an, Nina." 

Dr.  Dodson  came  between  tea  and 


THE  MAN-EATER. 


687 


dinner,  and  it  was  more  through  good 
luck  than  good  management  that  Car- 
leigh  saw  him. 

He  had  gone  to  his  nursery  bed- 
chamber, where  he  had  been  looking 
over  the  evening  things  laid  out  for 
him,  only  to  discover  that  the  pumps 
provided  were  fully  two  sizes  too 
large. 

Twice  he  had  rung  for  valet  or  foot- 
man without  response — his  own  man 
had  been  shipped  up  to  town  that 
morning — and  was  on  his  way  to 
Kevill  Dalgries's  quarters  when  he  en- 
countered an  elderly  gentleman — 
bearded,  carrying  a  small  profes- 
sional-looking hand-bag,  and  stepping 
with  professional  briskness — turning 
into  the  corridor  from  an  intersecting 
passage. 

He  stopped  him  without  the  least 
hesitation.  "  I  fancy  you  are  Dr.  Dod- 
son  ?  "  he  said. 

The  physician  signified  assent,  and 
Carleigh  introduced  himself. 

"  I  do  so  want  to  learn  of  poor  Mrs. 
Darling,"  he  went  on.  "  I  am  very 
anxious." 

"  Mrs.  Darling,"  Dodson  replied, 
"  is  doing  capitally.  I  have  every  rea- 
son to  believe  that  she  will  make  an 
amazingly  quick  recover}'.  Sir  Caryll." 

"  That  is  good  news  indeed,"  Car- 
leigh rejoined.  "  And  now  there  is  a 
favor  I  have  to  ask.  T  really  think 
that  I  should  be  allowed  to  see  her." 

The  doctor  pursed  his  lips  and  his 
eyes  shot  a  question  through  his 
glasses. 

"  I  am  deeply  interested  in  her,"  the 
young  man  went  on.  "  and  I  believe 
she  would  wish  it,  if  you  let  her 
know." 

His  effort  was  to  speak  in  exactly 
the  right  tone,  all  things  considered. 
Vet  he  was  wofully  uncertain  as  to 
just  what  were  the  things  he  had  to 
consider. 

"  T  will  ask  her,  of  course."  re- 
turned Dodson.  "  Rut  T  must  warn 
you  in  advance.  Sir  Caryll.  that  Mrs. 
Darling  does  not  care  to  see  any  one. 
Aside  from  the  severe  shock,  she  is  at 


present,  you  know,  so  very  badly  dis- 
figured." 

Caryll  experienced  a  deathlike  sink- 
ing at  his  heart.  Until  this  minute  he 
had  barely  considered  this  matter  of 
disfigurement.  He  just  couldn't  be- 
lieve it — couldn't  realize  it  as  a  pos- 
sibility. 

"  How —  "  he  began,  and  stopped 
short. 

"  One  side  of  her  face  is  very  badly 
burned,"  said  the  doctor. 

A  man  doesn't  like  to  hear  such 
things  about  a  woman  for  whom  he 
has  just  confessed  an  attachment.  It 
took  a  brief  moment  for  Carleigh  to 
collect  himself.  Then:  "Beg  her  to 
see  me,  please,"  he  asked  a  little 
stiffly. 

He  saw  the  physician  go.  but  he  had 
very  little  hope.  It  was  hardly  pos- 
sible that  she  would  accede  to  his  plea. 

She  didn't  want  "  Doody "  and 
"  Pucketts."  She  didn't  want  even 
"  Nibbetts,"  who,  it  was  clear  to  him. 
was  usually  her  help  in  time  of  trouble. 
What  chance  then  was  there  that  she 
would  see  him? 

But  to  his  surprise  and  that  of  the 
doctor  as  well,  she  did. 

Her  maid  came  back  with  Dodson 
and  took  him  to  the  room.  And  there, 
in  the  half  dark  made  by  the  drawn 
window-curtains  he  saw  her  lying  in 
the  wide,  white  bed.  her  beauty  hid- 
den— or  was  it  her  hideousness — by 
swathing  white  cloths. 

She  looked  curiously  Eastern  and 
uncanny,  and  his  thoughts  crowded, 
and  he  was  dumb. 

But  she  held  out  her  right  hand  to 
him  and  said:  "So  nice  to  see  you! 
But — what  is  this  I  hear  they  are  tell- 
ing about  us?  Such  astounding 
tales." 

Then  he  knew  that  Rosamond  had 
made  no  secret  of  his  daring  speech 
and  that  the  doors  and  windows  of 
gossip  were  all  set  open  afresh. 

He  sat  down  in  a  chair  close  by  her 
side  and  took  the  hand  she  offered,  and 
held  it  close  to  his  own. 

"  I  have  been  telling  the  truth."  he 


6*8 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


said,  with  that  cool,  odd  courage 
which  leaps  like  a  well-trained  ser- 
vant to  do  the  bidding  of  some  men. 
v  It  is  only  a  few  days  as  time  is 
counted,  but  clocks  should  be  our 
slaves  instead  of  OUT  masters.  To 
me  it  seems  an  eternity  since  you  so 
gave  me  back  to  myself  that  I  "—he 
faltered  ever  so  slightly — "  could  love 
— yes,  really  and  truly — love  again. 
And  I  do.  Oh,  Nina,  I  do!  Just 
you — only  you." 

Then,  all  at  once,  he  remembered, 
and  looked  sharply  about  the  room. 
He  had  forgotten  the  maid.  He  hail 
not  thought  of  Cecile  Archdeacon. 
They  might  be  there,  somewhere,  cur- 
tained by  the  gloom. 

"Don't  be  alarmed."  Nina  said, 
amused.  "  There  is  no  one  but  I  to 
hear  your  confession.  Cecile  with- 
drew discreetly  before  you  came,  and 
my  maid  parted  from  you  on  the  other 
side  of  the  door/' 

"  I  love  you,"  he  repeated,  reas- 
sured. 

"But  you  have  said  openly  here,  in 
this  house,  that  we  are  engaged — that 
I  had  your  ring." 

For  a  breath  he  hesitated.  Then : 
"  Let  it  stand,"  he  pleaded,  and  bent 
toward  her.  "  You  are  like  me,  you 
are  sick  of  it  all.  The  world  has 
bruised  us  both — has  tried  to  make 
outcasts  of  us  both — has  blackened  us 
falsely. 

"  Let  us  go  away  together — to 
Yukon,  to  Ceylon,  to  where  you  will. 
Lei  us  build  for  ourselves  a  free  life 
— a  new,  clean  life,  out  in  those  free, 
new  clean  surroundings." 

He  was  actually  surprised  at  his 
own  eloquence  and  at  how  in  earnest 
he  felt;  and  how  chivalrous.  But  he 
was  still  more  surprised  at  how  keen 
he  was  to  prove  to  Rosamond  that  he 
had  spoken  truth  fully. 

"  But  I'm  disfigured."  said  Xina  be- 
hind her  white  windings.  "  Horridly 
disfigured." 

"  It  will  not  matter."  he  declared. 

a  And  T  am  old.  I  count  for  ten 
years  beyond  you." 


"  That  is  our  own  affair — our  very 
own  affair."  He  felt  the  hand  within 
his  quiver  lightly  and  hope  ro6e.  *'  I 
really  am  very  fond  of  you,"  she  whis- 
pered. 

"  Believe  me,  it  is  love,"  he  whis- 
pered in  return.  "  See  how  it  snatched 
us  both  in  the  same  instant." 

Her  fingers  nestled  sweetly  in 
among  his  own. 

"  Did  Kneed  rock  tell  you  more  than 
you  told  me  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yest,"  he  answered  frankly. 
"  But  it  made  no  difference.  I  don't 
care  what  people  say  about  you." 

"  But  I  have  played  with  fire  so 
often — once  too  often."  she  added 
with  a  laugh.  "  Fire  came  near  end- 
ing me  at  last." 

Abruptly  his  curiosity  roused. 
"  They  say  you  were  safely  down 
stairs,  and  that  then  you  turned  and 
•went  back.    Why  did  you  go  back?" 

"  I  wanted  something." 

"What?  What  was  worth  the 
risk  ?  " 

For  just  a  little  she  did  not  answer. 
Then,  slowly,  she  reached  out  her 
other  hand — her  left  hand.  "  For 
this."  she  said. 

He  looked  and  fancied  he  must  be 
dreaming,  for,  lo.  there  on  her  engage- 
ment finger  sparkled  a  ring — his  ring. 
The  ring  that  he  believed  lost ;  the  ring 
that  he  believed  no  woman  would  ever 
wear  again. 

For  a  full  minute  he  was  too 
amazed,  too  stunned,  to  speak. 

"  You — you  found  it !  "  he  stam- 
mered at  last. 

"  T  never  threw  it  away  at  all/'  she 
confessed.  "  I  only  made  the  mo- 
tion. Why  should  I  throw  away  a 
perfectly  good  pearl  and  diamond 
ring  when  the  mere  motion  of  throw- 
ing answered  every  purpose?  " 

"  Every  purpose?    What  purpose?  " 

"  My  purpose,"  and  she  smiled. 

"  But  I — I  don't  understand.  What 
could  have  been  your  object  ?  " 

"I'll  tell  you."  she  replied.  He 
could  see  her  eyes  quite  clearly  now. 
His  own  had  grown  accustomed  to  the 


'-—  .m  -  ■  .  ,  ... 


THE  MAN-EATER. 


G£9 


gloom.  He  could  see  them  so  clearly 
as  to  read  mischief  in  them.  He  won- 
dered whether  it  was  possible  that  she 
was  suffering  the  least  bit. 

"  I  just  wondered  what  you  would 
say  and  do.  I  knew  of  no  better  way 
to  test  a  man's  whole  character  than 
by  pretending  to  toss  away  as  worth- 
less something  that  he  highly  values." 

"My  whole  character?"  he  echoed. 
"  Did  you  have  to  test  it  ?  " 

u  T  didn't  have  to.  I  wished  to. 
One  learns  of  the  real  man,  then.  And 
I  am  so  interested  in  real  men." 

The  thing  rather  hurt  him,  but  he 
said  :  ''I  suppose  you  were  satisfied." 

u  My  interest  was,"  she  answered, 
and  he  was  clever  enough  to  note  the 
distinction  she  effected  by  the  word 
and  the  emphasis. 

"  I'm  glad  if  it  amused  you,"  he 
said,  not  at  all  pleased.  "  Are  you 
going  to  tell  me  what  you  learned  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  let  you  draw  your 
own  conclusions,"  she  answered.  "  I 
told  a  man  once  in  India  that  there 
was  a  cobra  in  the  corner  of  the  room 
in  which  we  were  sitting,  just  to  see 
what  he  would  say." 

"  What  did  he  say?" 

"  He  didn't  say  anything.  He 
acted." 

"  Was  there  a  cobra  there?" 
"Of  course.    We  could   both  see 
it." 

"  You  were  telling  the  truth  then?  " 
'*'  After  my  fashion,  yes." 
"  And  what  did  he  do?" 
M  He  shot." 

Z And— " 

M  The  bullet  knocked  the  cobra  over. 
It  was  bronze." 

Then,  for  the  first  time  since  he  en- 
tered the  mom,  he  let  go  her  hand. 
44  And  that  satisfied  your  interest?  " 

"  That  satisfied  me,"  she  said,  and 
he  would  have  sworn  she  slightly  em- 
phasized the  pronoun. 

"  There  must  have  been  a  lot  of 
shooting  out  there  in  India,"  he  said 
significantly.  Somehow  he  felt  ter- 
ribly vexed. 

Xo,  he  didn't  wan!  to  go  into  any 

8  A-S 


wilds  with  this  woman.  He  recalled 
that  reincarnated  tigress  idea  of  Knee- 
drock's.  No  Yukon  or  Ceylon.  No, 
surely  not. 

She  seemed  to  read  his  thought. 
She  drew  back  her  right  hand  which 
he  had  dropped  so  coolly  and  turning 
a  little  on  her  side  she  reached  out  her 
left.  — 

"  There!  Take  off  the  ring  and  give 
it  to  Miss  Yeynol,"  she  said  cheer- 
fully. "  I  really  can't  marry  you.  In- 
deed I  can't.  Don't  pass  me.  Don't 
even  press  my  hand.  It's  absolutely 
no  use.  Go  on,  now.  and  leave  me  to 
sleep." 

It  was  Caryll's  mood  of  the  moment 
to  feel  relieved.  He  took  the  ring 
from  her  finger,  thrust  it  into  his 
waistcoat  pocket,  and  rose.  Then  he 
bowed  a  little  stiffly.  After  which  he 
left  her  to  sleep. 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
An  End  to  the  Gossip. 

ALL  masculine  and  human  as  he 
was.  Sir  Caryll  Carleigh 
emerged  from  that  darkened 
room  with  a  vivid  vision  still  remain- 
ing of  the  white  bandaged  face  and 
a  keen  awareness  of  the  engagement 
ring  once  more  in  his  possession,  enor- 
mously eased. 

If  there  was  a  sense  of  somewhat 
summary  dismissal  to  annoy,  it  was 
more  than  offset  by  the  knowledge 
that  he  was  absolutely  free.  Yes,  free 
even  of  the  chain  made  by  his  own 
impulsive  speech. 

A  thoroughly  foolish  man,  embar- 
rassed by  the  product  of  his  various 
and  gregarious  emotions,  may  still 
have  sense  enough  left  to  experience 
relief  at  being  afforded  a  fresh  chance. 

Life,  in  spots,  was  very  trying  to 
the  voung  baronet,  but  still  it  might 
have  been  far  worse. 

One  may  not  enjoy  being  buffeted 
about  by  a  woman  one  is  almost  sure 
one  loves.  Still  it's  a  poor  ball  that 
isn't  conscious  of  a  thrill  as  it  rises 


090 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


in  the  air  of  limitless  freedom  after 
a  hard  kick. 

So  Carleigh  went  lightly  along  the 
corridor  and  turned  lightly  at  the 
angle.  And  as  he  turned  he  came  face 
to  face  with  Rosamond  Veynol.  And 
Rosamond,  it  so  chanced,  was  looking 
beautiful  as  she  bad  never  looked 
beautiful  before. 

He  stopped  abruptly,  and  so  did  she. 
He  gasped,  and  she  likewise  gasped. 
But.  somehow,  it  was  far  less  aw  ful 
than  before,  because  here  there  was 
no  one  present  to  witness  their  be- 
havior. 

He  put  out  his  hand  and  she  put 
hers  in  it  before  she  thought.  It  came 
to  him  just  then,  suddenly,  that  he 
had  told  her  he  had  offered  himself  to 
Mrs.  Darling  and  given  her  the  ring. 
And  now  he  had  that  very  ring  in  his 
waistcoat  pocket. 

His  breath  came  fast — so  fast  that 
it  almost  choked  him. 

"  Rosamond  !  "  he  stammered. 
"Oh.  Rosamond!" 

She  was  dressed  for  traveling  and 
was  evidently  just  on  her  way  down. 
In  point  of  fact  she  was  about  quit- 
ting the  house  to  have  herself  further 
embarrassment. 

She  wasn't  expecting  to  meet  Car- 
leigh  on  that  side  of  the  house,  and 
the  encounter  had  startled  her,  as  it 
did  him.  more  than  slightly. 

She  stood,  actually  panting.  She 
strove  to  look  at  him,  and  failed  ut- 
terly. Then  she  tried  to  free  her  hand 
land  failed  in  that  too. 

Had  the  place  been  less  public  he 
would  surely  have  taken  her  in  his 
arms.  But  dinner  was  barely  an  hour 
off,  and  guests  were  likely  to  l>e  pass- 
ing at  any  minute. 

Moreover,  being  at  the  angle  of  the 
corridor,  they  were  likely  to  c«>me 
tip<»n  them  without  any  warning  what- 
ever; just  as  they  had  come  upon  one 
another. 

"  Rosic."  he  said,  without  the 
slightest  premeditation  or  considera- 
tion. "  I've  been  very  unhappy  and 
very  foolish,  and  Mrs.  Darling  has 


brought  me  to  my  senses.  She  doesn't 
want  me  and  she  doesn't  want  the 
ring.  Will  you  take  it  back?  Will 
you  take  me  back?  She  says  that  you 
are  the  one  I  love,  and  I  think  she 
knows." 

All  this  at  headlong  speed,  spoken 
as  fast  as  he  could  form  and  utter  the 
word.  As  he  ended  he  opened  the 
hand  that  had  been  fumbling  at  a 
pocket  and  showed  her  the  ring — her 
engagement  ring — lying  in  his  palm. 

She  seemed  to  stumble  and  fall  side- 
ways against  the  wall,  and  his  arm 
went  out  to  steady  her. 

"  Oh !  "  she  gasped.  "  And  ma- 
ma?   What  of  mama?" 

"  We'll  run  away  and  get  married." 
His  words  were  as  wild  as  her  own. 
"  We'll  tell  no  one.  We'll  fly.  And 
afterward — afterward — "  But  there 
he  stuck. 

"  And  mama  ? "  she  said  again. 
"  And  mama  ?  " 

He  was  sure  now  that  for  him  she 
was  the  only  woman  in  the  world. 
"  We  will  live  abroad,"  he  said 
heartily.  "  Ceylon,  Yukon,  or  some 
place  " — his  imagination  surely  had 
limitations  this  evening — "  and  we  will 
never  come  back." 

Rosamond  at  length  achieved  con- 
trol. 

"  Mama  will  never  leave  us  in 
peace."  she  declared.  "  Mama  will 
find  us  wherever  we  go.  Believe  me, 
mama  is  quite  set  against  the  mar- 
riage. She  will  not  have  it.  And  she 
says  if  it  goes  forward  ever,  she'll 
surely  take  you  away  from  me.  I 
can't  tell  you  what  awful  things  she's 
told  me — things  you've  said  to  her. 
Terrible  things." 

At  that  he  paled  and  loosed  her 
hand.  Certainly  the  corridor  was  far 
too  public  for  this  kind  of  conversa- 
tion; and  yet  all  he  could  sense  was 
the  odor  of  probable  triumph — the  ex- 
altation, the  exhilaration  of  winning 
out. 

Never  mind  the  mother;  that  sel- 
fish, narrow-viewed  American  grass- 
widow,  who  had   her  little   way  of 


THE  MAN-EATER. 


691 


having  her  little  way  on  all  occasions 
and  under  all  circumstances. 

He  was  determined  that  Rosamond 
Veynol  must  go  off  with  him,  so  that 
Xma — and  everybody  else,  of  course, 
might  hear  of  it.  All  other  considera- 
tions were  forgotten.  He  seized  her 
hand  again. 

Listen,  my  dear  girl,"  he  pleaded. 
"  We  do  love  one  another.  We've 
said  so  a  thousand  times.  Your 
mama  doesn't  want  the  match,  and 
we've  tried  to  break  it  off.  We  can't 
break  it  off.  It's  too  strong  for  us. 
We  both  have  found  that  out. 

H  When  I  suddenly  saw  'you  this 
morning  I  knew  it  was  too  strong  for 
me.  Now  you  know  it  too.  But  we 
can't  put  it  through  in  the  open.  So 
let  us  put  it  through  in  the  only  other 
way.    Let's  run  off.    And  at  once." 

She  lifted  her  eye's  to  his  and  he 
felt  that  she  would  help  him  to  manage 
it  somehow.  He  didn't  stop  an  in- 
stant to  consider  that  perhaps  she  too 
had  her  triumph  to  secure.  Rosa- 
mond was  human  too. 

There  was  the  world,  and  her 
mother,  and — Mrs.  Darling.  Oh.  es- 
pecially there  was  Mrs.  Darling.  Car- 
leigh  didn't  know,  and  Nina  didn't 
know.  Xobody  knew,  in  fact,  but 
Rosamond  Veynol. 

Caryll  took  her  in  his  arms,  unre- 
sisting, and  hugged  her  very  close. 
He  had  been  warned  about  the  corri- 
dor, but  he  didn't  heed  in  time. 

He  was  still  holding  her,  and  his 
lips'were  pressed  tightly  to  hers,  when 
Cecile  turned  the  angle  and  uttered  a 
little  cry  of  astonishment. 

Of  course  there  was  no  escape. 

"  We — we're  going  to  be  married 
at  once,"  Carleigb  explained,  stam- 
meringly.  And  Rosamond  nodding, 
blushed  as  red  as  a  peony. 

"  \  am  glad,"  Cecile  congratulated. 

"  But — but — you  see,"  the  young 
baronet  continued,  one  arm  still  held 
possessively  about  his  fiancee's  waist, 
"  while  we're  delighted  that  you 
should  know,  we  aren't  quite  ready  to 
tell  society  in  general." 


11 1  understand  perfectly.  Rely  on 
me  to  preserve  your  confidence.  I 
think  it  is  positively  lovely." 

"Yes,  isn't  it?"  said  Rosamond. 
"  Caryll  and  I  were  made  for  one  an- 
other. You  do  understand,  don't  you, 
dear  Mrs.  Archdeacon  ?  " 

'■'  Perfectly."  repeated  Cecile.  "  By 
the  bye.  dear,  the  car  has  been  waiting 
for  you  this  half  hour.  If  you've 
changed  your  mind — " 

Rosamond  shook  her  head  vigor- 
ously. "  Oh,  but  I  haven't,"  she  re- 
turned. Then  she  said  to  Caryll :  "  I'm 
going  over  to  The  Manse,  at  Ranleigh 
Copse  for  a  couple  of  days.  If  you'd 
care  to  ride  over  to-morrow — " 

"Care  to?"  he  murmured.  "How 
can  I  wait  until  to-morrow?  Suppose 
I  run  over  with  you  now,  just  to  see 
you  safely  there." 

"  Won't  you  be  late  getting  back  to 
dinner?"  asked  the  chatelaine  of 
Carfen  House.  *'  The  countess  might. 
\"u  know,  be  annoyed." 

Carleigb  smiled.  "  As  the  earl  has 
failed  to  lit  me  with  pumps."  he  said. 
"  I  consider  myself  excusable.  Would 
vou  mind  explaining  for  me,  my  dear 
Cecile?" 

Of  course  he  drove  over  to  The 
Manse  with  Rosamond.  Xothing  in 
the  world  could  have  held  him  back 
just  then. 

And  on  the  way  he  told  her  of  how 
nearly  he  had  lost  his  life  in  the  tire 
and  of  how  her  face  had  come  before 
him  in  what  he  believed  was  his  last 
moment. 

"  That  should  prove  beyond  every- 
thing how  I  love  you,  dearest."  he 
murmured. 

I  don't  require  any  proof,  Caryll. 
my  own."  she  said.  "  t  feel  it  so  deep, 
deep  down  in  the  heart  of  me.  Our 
brain  knows  other  things,  but  it  is  with 
our  heart  that  we  know  the  things  of 
love." 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  this  sort 
of  thing  on  the  way  over,  and  if  the 
chauffeur  had  sharp  ears  he  must  have  - 
been  very   much   amused   or  —  very 
much  bored. 


602 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


Love-making  is  always  so  infinitely- 
entertaining  to  the  lovers,  with  every 
burning  word  a  fresh  delight;  and  yet 
how  tiresome,  flat,  trite,  stale,  and  un- 
profitable to  the  disinterested  yet  en- 
forced listener. 

Carleigh  got  back  to  Cross  Saddle 
Hall  in  ample  time  to  dress  for  dinner, 
and  found  no  less  than  a  dozen  pairs 
of  pumps  of  varying  sizes  spread  out 
on  his  nV>..r  tor  inspection  and  selec- 
tion. 

After  dining  he  redressed  and  went 
up  to  town  by  a  late  train.  The  next 
dav  he  returned  his  borrowed  attire, 
and  then  he  went  down  to  Bel  ling- 
down  once  more  for  a  long  and  im- 
portant conference  with  his  aunt. 

Tt  took  place  in  Lady  Bellingdown's 
boudoir,  and  this  is  the  way  he  began 
it :  "  Rosamond  and  I  are  to  be  mar- 
ried within  a  week,  and  we'd  like  to  be 
married  here." 

Lady  Bellingdown's  breath  was 
qtlite  taken  away.  She  couldn't  say  a 
thing.  So  her  nephew  proceeded : 
"  You  see.  we  thought  first  of  going 
to  the  registrar,  saying  nothing  to 
any  one.  and  just  slipping  off  to  some 
foreign  paradise  all  by  ourselves. 

"  But  Rosamond  says  she  never  ex- 
pects to  be  married  but  once,  and  that 
as  she  has  her  wedding-gown  all  ready 
and  waiting  she  might  as  well  wear  it 
and  show  it." 

"  But  I  thought — "  began  bis  kins- 
woman, and  got  no  farther. 

M  You  thought  I  was  in  love  with 
Mrs.  Darling,"  he  interrupted.  "  So 
I —  No,  I  wasn't.  I  was  fascinated, 
infatuated.  But  T —  Of  course  you 
heard  about  the  fire  at  Carfen?" 

"  We  heard  she  was  horribly  burned. 
Do  tell  me  the  particulars  ." 

"  They  sag  she's  disfigured."  be  ex- 
plained. "  Her  face  is  all  swathed 
now." 

"  That  will  rob  her  of  her  power. 
And  she  was  so  beautiful." 

"Yes.  she  was  beautiful/'  agreed 
Carleigh.  "  And  she  did  have  power. 
She  could  make  a  man  forget  his 
eternal  soul." 


"  Nina  was  wonderful  at  making 
men  forget,"  said  his  Aunt  Kitty. 
"  She  made  you  forget,  didn't  she?" 

"  For  a  little  while.  Then,  by 
purest  chance.  I  saw  Rosamond  again, 
and — well,  I  knew  that  she  was  the 
only  woman  J  could  ever  really  care  for 
as  one's  wife  should  be  cared  for.  She 
is  an  angel." 

"  But  her  mother?" 

"  Ah,  her  mother.  We  are  going  to 
keep  clear  of  Mrs.  Veynol." 

•'Can  you?" 

u  Certainly.  We  must,  you  see.  I 
don't  know  what  it  is,  but  she  rouses 
all  the  devil  there  is  in  me.  And 
then — "    He  paused. 

"  And  then  ?  "  Lady  Bellingdowu 
asked. 

"  Then  she  tells  Rosamond." 

H  Was  that  how  she  separated  you 
before?    I  never  exactly  knew." 

"That  was  at  the  bottom  of  it." 

M  And  you  mean  to  be  married  now 
— here — without  letting  her  know?" 

'*  Yes.  Once  we  are  married,  what 
can  she  do?  Rosie's  of  age,  you  know. 
She  doesn't  have  to  ask  any  one's  con- 
sent. When  she  is  Lady  Carleigh  we 
can  defy  the  mater." 

"  But  I  thought  you  were  going  to 
keep  out  of  the  way." 

"  We  are  if  —  if  we  can.  Absence 
is  better  than  defiance,  isn't  it?" 

"Absence  may  be  defiance."  said  his 
aunt.    "  I  didn't  think  of  it  that  way." 

"  Yes,"  he  agreed,  but  he  evidently 
had  some  misgiving. 

"  But  you're  not  so  certain  as  you 
were  a  minute  ago  that  you  can  keep 
the  place  of  your  absence  a  secret.  Is 
that  it  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Veynol  has  an  uncanny  fac- 
ulty of  finding  things  out."  he  con- 
fided miserably. 

"  Now,  there's  where  Xina  has  an 
advantage,"  Lady  Bellingdowu  sug- 
gested. "  She  has  no  mother.  You 
would  have  had  no  distressing  mother- 
in-law." 

Sir  Caryll  was  thoughtful.  Then: 
"  But  Mrs.  Darling  is  too  old  for  me. 
She  said  so  herself." 


THE  MAN-EATER. 


693 


"  I  suppose  that's  true.  Nina  seems 
fixed  in  her  purpose  never  to  marry. 
Fancy  a  woman  saying  she  is  too  old 
for  any  man !  " 

"  She  counts  by  experience  rather 
than  years  possibly.  One  would  never 
think  of  age  in  her  case  if  she  didn't 
remind  one." 

"  She's  very  lovely,"  said  Kitty 
Bellingdown  with  something  of  final- 
ity. "  Where  will  you  and  Rosamond 
spend  your  honeymoon?"  she  added. 

*'  That's  just  it/'  Carleigh  returned 
with  knitted  brow.  "  It's  the  one 
problem  that  troubles  me.  Honey- 
moon places  are  so  devilishly  well 
known.  All  Mrs.  Veynol  would  have 
to  do  is  to  keep  her  eyes  on  the  news- 
papers. She'd  spot  us  within  a  week. 
And  then — she'd  follow." 

"  You  might  travel  incognito." 

"  On  one's  wedding  journey?  Nev- 
er! How  can  you  think  of  it,  Aunt 
Kitty?    Don't  you  see — " 

"  Of  course  I  see,"  she  broke  in. 
V  Forgive  me.  It  never  once  occurred 
to  me." 

Then  they  let  that  question  drop, 
having  been  frightened  away  by  thus 
straying  on  dangerous  ground. 

The  arrangements  for  the  nuptials 
were  all  completed  in  the  next  hour. 
They  were  not  to  be  in  any  wise  sim- 
ple. They  were  to  be  very  imposing, 
in  fact,  with  a  whole  houseful  of 
guests,  hurriedly  brought  together,  yet 
every  one  under  a  strict  bond  of 
secrecy. 

Rosamond  was  to  stop  OH  at  the 
.Manse  until  the  second  day  be- 
fore. Then  she  was  to  withdraw  her 
trousseau  from  where  it  had  been  so 
hurriedly  rushed  into  storage  in  Lon- 
don and  appear  at  Bellingdown  on  the 
eve  of  her  last  day  of  maidenhood. 

Lord  Waltheof  was  deputed  to  look 
after  minor  details;  but  Lord  Kneed- 
rock,  could  his  consent  l>e  obtained, 
was  to  be  best  man. 

Carleigh  saw  personally  to  this,  of 
course,  and  encountered  no  trouble. 
Kneedrock  consented  without  demur 
and  offered  to  see  his  grace,  the  arch- 


bishop of  Highshire.  and  arrange  with 
him  to  perform  the  ceremony. 

And,  wonder  of  wonders,  every- 
thing was  carried  oul  precisely  as 
planned!  The  September  day  proved 
glorious.  The  sun  shone  on  the  bride 
in  good  omen,  and  the  bride  was  a 
picture  of  loveliness. 

Many  of  the  presents,  returned  six 
weeks  before,  came  back  in  the  same 
wrappings,  and  most  of  the  rest  would 
probably  come  later  when  the  givers 
learned  what  had  happened  and  how. 

But  no  one  —  not  even  Lady  Bel- 
lingdown— was  given  a  hint  as  to  the 
honeymoon  destination  of  bride  and 
bridegroom. 

They  drove  away  toward  London 
under  a  deluging  shower  of  rice  and 
old  slippers,  and  with  white  ribbon — 
yards  and  yards  of  it  —  streaming 
from  every  attachable  place  on  Sir 
Caryll's  own  motor-car. 

After  they  had  gone  the  guests 
continued  very  merry.  A  great  quan- 
tity of  champagne  had  been  consumed 
in  drinking  the  health  and  happiness 
of  the  launched  voyagers  on  the  mat- 
rimonial sea.  and  ever)-  one's  spirits 
were  keyed  high. 

Every  one's,  that  is  to  say.  except 
Kitty  Bellingdown's  and  Kneedrock's. 

"  Poor  dear  Caryll ! M  sighed  his 
aunt,  who,  like  some  others,  always 
chose  to  weep  over  those  that  were 
given  in  matrimony.  "  Well,  and  so 
he's  married  at  last!  " 

"  And  such  a  surprise !  "  exclaimed 
the  duke.  "  I  say,  Doody.  wasn't  it  a 
surprise  ?  " 

Doody  didn't  say  anything.  She 
was  trying  a  new  dance  -  step  with 
Waltheof. 

"  And  so  now  there's  an  end  to  the 
gossip,"  contributed  Charlotte  Grey. 

Kneedrock,  who  had  his  back 
turned,  wheeled  around. 

"Oh.  is  there?"  he  observed  in  his 
characteristic  ringing  undertone. 

The  duchess  gave  over  trying  the 
dance-step,  and  joined  the  group. 

"  His  mother  -  in  -  law  will  be  after 
them,  of  course,"  she  said.  M  There'll 


C04 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


I>e  no  keeping  it  from  her.    Such  a 

dreadful  person  ehc  i$W    '  1 
"  She  rides  races  in  hoy's  clothes." 
put  in  the  duVe.    "  She  does— doesn't 
she.  Doody  ?  " 

"And  she  bathes  in  one-piece,  Con- 
tinental l>athing  -  suits."  volunteered 
Waltheof.  "  I've  seen  her  at  Ostend. 
Ripping  figure  for  the  mother  of  such 
a  Dig  girl!  " 

" I  wonder  what  will  happen  next?" 

mused  Lady  Bellingdown,  who  loved 
Carleigh  like  a  son  and  was  more  than 
a  1 1 1 tie  frightened. 

"Nina  will  happen  next."  said  Lord 
Kneed  rock,  sot  to  voce. 

He  was  wondering  why  it  was  that 
the  new  Lady  Carleigh  reminded  him 
so  much  of  that  Ramsay  girl  he  had 
met  through  Nina  at  Simla. 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
The  Interrupted  Honeymoon. 

THE   Carleighs  went   to  Madeira 
for  their  honeymoon.    It  is  a 
popular  place   for  honeymoons; 
but  not  so  popular  as  some  others,  be- 
cause it's  farther  away. 

No  one  knewr  but  they,  and  they 
hoped  that  the  mater  wouldn't  find 
out.  They  didn't  in  the  least  see  how- 
she  was  to  find  out. 

Rosamond  went  so  far  as  to  write 
her  a  letter,  omitting  all  mention  of 
her  wedding,  of  course,  dating  it  from 
Sail  Remo,  and  sending  it  there  under 
over  to  a  confidential  friend,  to  be 
mailed  to  "  dear  mama,"  who,  it  so 
happened,  was  still  in  Dublin. 

Having  thus  taken  every  precaution 
to  guard  against  pursuit,  they  threw 
care  to  the  winds  and  reveled  in  their 
new  and  blissful  companionship,  amid 
tropical  surroundings. 

Everything  amused  them  —  the  na- 
tives, the  bullock-sledges,  the  redes — 
hammocks  swung  on  poles  and  carried 
by  native  bearers. 

They  explored  the  long  ravine,  visi- 
ble from  the  windows  of  their  rooms 
in  the  hotel  at  Funchal,  riding  on  the 


backs  of  gaily  harnessed  mules  and 
sampling  the  wines  of  the  vineyards 
along  the  way. 

Of  evenings  there  were  always  the 
botanical  gardens,  with  their  palms 
and  rhododendrons,  and  the  light- 
hearted  Madeirans  making  a  fiesta  of 
the  hour. 

There  had  been  two  weeks  of  it 
now  —  rapturous  weeks  —  with  Mrs. 
Veynol  so  far  from  their  thoughts 
that  even  momentary  memories  had 
ceased  to  obtrude. 

They  sat  in  the  half  light  of  the 
gardens,  a  giant  palm  nodding  above 
them,  a  soft  breeze  in  their  faces, 
lovers  of  another  land — but  still  lov- 
ers like  themselves  —  sauntering  by. 
the  men  swinging  malacca-sticks,  the 
women's  bright  eyes  shining  beneath 
becomingly  arranged  mantillas,  and 
believed  paradise  their  very  own. 

And  that  was  the  moment  that  Fate 
chose  for  dropping  a  shadow.  It  de- 
scended while  their  heads  were  turned 
the  other  way,  and  their  first  warning 
was  when  a  voice  they  both  knew  and 
recognized  instantly  fell  like  the  knell 
of  doom  on  their  joy-attuned  ears. 

"  Aren't  von  going  to  kiss  mother, 
son  ?  " 

Carleigh  seemed  propelled  to  his 
feet.  It  appeared  to  him  that  he  came 
up  with  a  whirling  motion.  If  he 
could  only  have  gone  on  whirling  and 
rising,  like  certain  cardboard  toys  he 
remembered  to  have  seen,  it  would 
have  been  such  a  satisfaction. 

But.  instead,  he  seemed  to  whirl 
straight  into  his  mother-in-law's  open 
arms,  which  closed  affectionately  — 
oh.  so  affectionately! — around  him. 
And  it  wasn't  at  all  a  nice  kiss  she 
gave  him  or  he  gave  her. 

There  was  nothing  maternal  about 
it.  Jt  was  so  ardent  that  he  felt 
ashamed,  and  when  he  was  at  length 
released  and  caught  sight  of  Rosa- 
mond's eyes  he  was  more  ashamed 
than  ever.  He  couldn't  understand 
himself. 

lie  didn't  love  Sibylla  Veynol.  He 
was  sure  he  didn't.    He  would  have 


THE  MAN-EATER. 


605 


been  delighted  never  to  see  her  again. 
And  he  did  love  her  daughter.  Yet 
this  was  the  way  it  had  been  before. 

Then  their  kisses  had  been  in  se- 
cret. Now  that  she  had  the  right  she 
chose  to  demand  them  openly.  Here- 
tofore she  had  told  her  daughter 
things.    Now  she  meant  to  show  her. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  to  kiss  you, 
Rosamond,  or  not,"  she  said.  "  That 
letter  you  sent  me  from  San  Re  mo 
was  a  very  low  piece  of  work." 

"  But.  mama  — "  began  Lady  Car- 
lei  gh,  and  got  no  farther. 

"  What  must  the  world  think,"  her 
mother  went  on.  "  when  it  learns  you 
are  married  and  that  I  was  not  bidden 
to  your  wedding?" 

"  Why,  mama  — "  the  bride  at- 
tempted once  more. 

"  I  don't  blame  Caryll  in  the  least," 
mama  continued.  "  I  am  sure  that  he 
had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  He  would 
have  been  only  too  glad  to  have  me 
there.  It  was  you,  my  ungrateful 
daughter — my  own  flesh  and  blood — 
who  was  at  the  bottom  of  it  all." 

"Oh,  I  say — "  Jt  was  Carleigh 
who  made  the  attempt  this  time. 

"  No"  you  needn't  speak,"  Mrs. 
Veynol  checked  him.  4  You  are  a 
gentleman  and  wish  to  take  the  blame 
on  \"iir  own  shoulders;  but,  no  mat- 
ter what  you  said,  I  shouldn't  believe 
you.  Fortunately,  I  know  my  own 
daughter  at  last." 

"  It — it  was  the  only  way,"  Rosa- 
mond faltered. 

"  It  was  a  very  wicked  way.  Still, 
I  don't  see  how  I  am  to  blame  you. 
Caryll  is  so  fascinating  it  is  all  1  can 
do  to  resist  him  myself.  But  —  oh, 
dear.  I  had  quite  forgotten !  " 

She  turned  abruptly  to  where  a  fair- 
haired  young  man,  slightly  round- 
shouldered,  stood  hat  in  hand  behind 
her.  "  Let  me  present  Mr.  Miles 
O'Connor,  Lady  Carleigh — Sir  Caryll 
Carleigh." 

Rosamond  inclined  her  head,  and 
Carleigh  bowed  a  little  stiffly.  Mr. 
Miles  O'Connor  withdrew  a  tenta- 
tively advanced  hand. 


"  Mr.  O'Connor/'  explained  Mrs. 
Veynol,  "  is  the  subeditor  of  British 
Society.  It  was  through  him  that  I 
located  you.  How  he  managed  it  I 
don't  know.  I  am  curious  myself; 
but  he  tells  me  it  is  an  office  secret, 
which  is  equivalent  to  a  secret  of  the 
confessional." 

Neither  Sir  Caryll  nor  his  wife 
spoke.  Both  would  have  liked  to  cut 
out  the  tongue  that  had  betrayed  them. 

w  Mr.  O'Connor  came  with  me  from 
London.  He  has  been  most  kind  and 
considerate.  I  can  never  hope  to  re- 
pay him." 

"  Has  British  Society  ceased  publi- 
cation?" asked  Carleigh  bitinglv. 

"  It's  a  little  vacation  I'm  taking," 
ventured  the  subeditor. 

"  Sorry  you  delayed  it  so  long," 
rejoined  the  baronet,  still  more  acidly. 

"  We  were  fortunate  enough  to  se- 
cure rooms  on  the  same  corridor  with 
you  at  your  hotel,"  Mrs.  Veynol  dis- 
closed. 

"  Mr.  O'Connor  again,  I  assume," 
said  Carleigh.  "  As  capable  a  courier 
as  an  editor — I  mean  as  a  subeditor." 

"  Sir  Caryll  is  pleased  to  be  iron- 
ical," snapped  the  young  Irishman, 
boiling. 

"  I'm  not  pleased  at  all,"  Sir  Caryll 
replied  equivocally.  "  Ordinarily  I 
am  most  complacent,  but  I  can't  bear 
a  sneaking,  snooting  busybody  who's 
always  attending  to  every  one's  busi- 
ness but  his  own." 

O'Connor's  fists  doubled,  but  Mrs. 
Veynol  laid  a  quieting  hand  on  his 
curving  shoulder. 

"  Caryll  dear,"  she  soothed,  "  you 
are  unjust.  You  are,  really.  Mr. 
O'Connor  has  served  me  at  great 
personal  sacrifice.  I  don't  know  what 
I  should  have  done  without  him. 
When  I  learned  that  Rosamond  was 
not  at  San  Remo  —  had  never  been 
there — I  was  torn  with  anxiety. 
Fancy  the  feelings  of  a  fond  mother! 
I  applied  to  Mr.  O'Connor  in  my  ex- 
tremity, and  he  proved  himself  a 
friend  in  need." 

Carleigh  turned  away,  but  no  less 


696 


ALL-STORY  WEEKLY. 


vexed.  In  his  wife's  eyes  he  saw 
tears  glistening.    And  they  had  been 

so  inexpressibly  happy. 

lie  was  tempted  to  allude  to  British 
Society's  theory  of  why  his  engage- 
incut  had  been  broken  —  to  inquire 
about  the  convict  first  husband  —  his 
Rosamond's  own  father — but  he  re- 
sisted the  impulse,  determining,  never- 
theless, to  thrash  out  the  matter  with 
Mrs.  Yeynol  privately  at  the  first  op- 
potl  unity. 

But  there  was  no  opportunity  that 
evening.  He  managed  it,  however, 
the  following  morning.  He  was  astir 
early,  leaving  Rosamond,  who  had 
been  wakeful  from  nervousness,  to 
get  some  compensating  slumber. 

And  he  met  his  mother-in-law,  as  if 
by  prearrangement,  in  the  hotel  gar- 
dens while  the  dew  was  still  on  leaf 
and  flower.  To  his  delight  she  was 
unattended. 

You  grow  younger  every  time  I 
see  you."  he  said,  kissing  her  hand  in 
the  continental  fashion  he  knew  she 
liked.    M  You  might  be  Rosa's  sister." 

It  was  odd  how  against  his  will  such 
pretty  speeches  were  wrung  from  him 
by  this  woman  who  in  one  way  re- 
pelled him. 

They  strolled  about  for  a  while, 
and  then  sat  down  on  a  bench,  which 
Carleigh  did  not  observe  was  in  full 
view  from  his  wife's  windows.    But  ' 
it  was. 

"  Couldn't  you  have  come  here 
alone,  mater?"  he  asked.  It  was  the 
first  time  he  had  called  her  that,  and 
it  didn't  please  her.  He  saw  it  before 
she  spoke. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Caryll  dear, 
don't !  "  she  begged.  "  You  make  me 
feel  a  hundred.  If  you  can't  find  a 
pet  name  for  me  you  may  call  mc  Si- 
bylla, or  Sibyl,  or  just  Sib,  But  I'll 
hate  you  if  you  mater  me.  And  I  don't 
want  to  hate  you.    I  don't  really." 

"  No  more  than  T  wish  to  hate 
y»u,"  he  laughed.  "  But  I  will  unless 
you  send  that  Irish  bounder  about  his 
business.  Fancy  you  fetching  a  cad 
like  that,  Sibyl — dear!  " 


"  But  I  didn't,"  she  protested.  M  It 
was  he  who  fetched  me.  He  would 
find  Rosamond  for  me  on  no  other 
terms.  We  came  by  train  to  Lisbon, 
you  know.  And  he  never  men- 
tioned Funchal  until  we  were  on  the 
steamer.'* 

"  He's  even  more  of  a  cad  than  I 
thought  then." 

"  He's  in  love  with  me,"  Sibylla 
said. 

*'  And  you  have  encouraged  him. 
Good  Lord!" 

"  For  a  purpose.  Purely  for  a  pur- 
pose." 

"  And  after  what  he  did  —  after 
that  vile  screed  lie  published." 

She  colored  softly.  "  Then  j'ou 
saw  it?"  she  asked. 

"  It  was  sent  to  me  in  Scotland.  Of 
course  I  knew  it  wasn't  true.  I  was 
tempted  to  horsewhip  the  beggar." 

"  But  it  was  true."  she  declared 
boldly.    "  That  was  the  worst  of  it." 

And  at  that  Carleigh  sat  suddenly 
upright,  whereas  he  had  been  loung- 
ing. "  I  never  knew  it.  I  never 
threw  Rosamond  over  for  it.  You 
know  that." 

"  That  was  its  only  inaccuracy. 
The  prison  part  was  quite  true.  Your 
wife's  father  is  still  serving  his  sen- 
tence in  the  United  States  Federal 
Prison  at  Atlanta,  Georgia." 

"And  you  never  told  me !  She  never 
told  me!"  he  cried  reproachfully. 

"It  was  a  secret  we  thought  buried. 
Why  should  we  have  dug  it  up  ?  " 

•  Because  I  was  marrying  into  the 
family.    I  was  entitled  to — " 

"  I  had  no  intention  of  permitting 
you  to  marry  into  family.  You  must 
grant  I  did  all  in  my  power  to  stop  it. 
I  even  resorted  to  attracting  yon  my- 
self. I  felt  sure  that  my  daughter 
would  never  marry  a  man- who  flirted 
with  her  mother.  It  was  shameful 
perhaps,  but  I  could  not  afford  to  be 
too  discriminating." 

"  You  had  far  better  have  told  me." 
he  protested. 

You  mean  that  if  you  had  known 
you  would  not  have  married  ?  " 


THE  MAN-EATER. 


697 


"  No.  I  am  not  sure.  But  I  should 
have  had  the  chance  to  consider.  Now 
it  is  too  late." 

Mrs.  Veynol  laughed  ringingly. 

*•  Not  at  all,"  she  denied.  "  Mar- 
riage is  the  least  irrevocable  of  steps. 
Give  my  daughter  the  grounds  and  I 
promise  you  she  will  divorce  you." 

44  I  have  messed  things  up."  mused 
Carleigh  dismally. 

"  You  see,  I've  lost  neither  time  nor 
effort  to  let  you  know,"  said  Mrs. 
Veynol.  w  As  a  gentleman,  though, 
you  will  preserve  my  confidence.  As 
a  son-in-law  I  have  told  you  what  I 
could  not  even  as  a  fiitur." 

u  But  the  whole  world  knows  it." 
he  retorted.    4<  It  has  been  published." 

"  And  it  has  been  denied — retracted 
with  an  apology — a  very  abject  apol- 
ogy. Mr.  O'Connor  did  it.  He  was' 
most  kind." 

Carleigh  fell  to  musing  again.  Fi- 
nally he  said :  "  What  was  your  first 
husband's  name  ?  " 

"  The  same  as  always,"  she  an- 
swered, smiling  at  his  past  tense. 
44  He  hasn't  changed  it.  It  was  only 
I  that  changed  mine  and  Rosamond's. 
His  name  is  Ramsay  —  J.  Sprague 
Ramsay." 

"  You  divorced  him  before  or  after 
he  went  to  prison?"  Caryll  asked. 

"  I  divorced  him  ivhcn  he  went  to 
prison,"  was  her  precise  answer. 
"  Then  I  took  back  my  maiden  name, 
called  -  my  daughter  Rosamond  in- 
stead of  Jane — she  had  been  christened 
Jane  Rosamond  —  and  deserted  the 
world  that  knew  us  for  Cape  Town, 
where  I  met  Mr.  Veynol  and  married 
him." 

4<  You  are  an  ambitious  woman. 
Sibyl,"  observed  her  son  -  in  -  law 
thoughtfully. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  she  admitted  candid- 
ly. "  And,  you  see,  my  ambition  runs 
higher  than  a  mere  baronet.  Let  the 
girl  divorce  you,  and  1*11  marry  her  to 
an  earl." 

44  But  I'm  not  going  to  let  the  girl 
divorce  me."  He  had  reached  a  de- 
cision. "  I  love  her  too  much,  and — " 


His  eyes  dwelt  appraisingly  for  a  mo- 
ment on  the  woman  beside  him.  In 
her  dark,  Spanish,  almost  gipsy  way. 
she  held  a  lure  that  for  the  susceptible 
Carleigh  was  well  -  nigh  irresistible. 
"  And,"  he  added,  "  her  mother  is  far 
too  fascinating." 

Mrs.  Veynol  laughed,  but  his  flat- 
ter)' was  not  lost.  "  Kiss  mother, 
son,"  she  commanded  and  leaned  to- 
ward him. 

He  glanced  furtively  from  right  to 
left.  Not  a  soul  was  in  sight.  Then 
he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  pressed 
her  close,  and  the  kiss  was  that  of  the 
night  before  over  again.  If  anything 
it  was  warmer. 

The  subeditor  left  Madeira  by  the 
next  calling  steamer,  liberally  remu- 
nerated for  his  services. 

Relieved  of  his  presence,  the  Car- 
leighs  and  Mrs.  Veynol  stayed  on. 
They  stayed  for  another  fortnight. 
Then  they  traveled  to  Nice,  arriving 
a  little  in  advance  of  the  season. 

No  one  of  them,  however,  was 
quite  happy.  The  serpent  had  entered 
paradise,  and  its  sweetest  fruits  had 
turned  acrid. 

In  these  days  Sir  Caryll  talked 
more  with  his  mother-in-law  than  he 
did  with  his  wife.  Her  experience 
was  wider,  and  she  had  more  imagi- 
nation. 

Occasionally  there  were  revelations 
that  were  like  sudden  drops  into  icy 
waters.  For  instance,  one  day  when 
they  had  gone  to  Monte  Carlo  to- 
gether, leaving  Rosamond  at  Nice 
with  a  headache  or  some  other  ill. 
she  surprised  him  by  saying: 

44  It's  odd  Nina  Darling  never  told 
you  of  us." 

44  You  mean  she  knew?"  he  asked 
in  astonishment. 

44  I'm  not  sure.  We've  never  met — 
since.  But  we  were  great  friends  five 
years  ago  in  Simla." 

44  It  isn't  possible  she  knows?" 
said  Carleigh. 

"  I  wouldn't  be  certain,"  said  the 
whilom  Mrs.  Ramsay.  "  She  can  keep 
a  secret.    None  better.    You  know, 


KG 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


there's  no  doubt  she  shot  poor  Dar- 
ling. They  were  alone  in  the  gun- 
room together,  ami  he  couldn't  have 
done  it  himself." 

"I'll  never  believe  that."  he  re- 
turned. 

"Then  you'll  never  believe  the 
truth." 

u  But  w  hy  ?  What  was  her  ob- 
ject?" 

•■  She  wanted  him  out  of  the  way 
to  marry  Lord  Kneedrock,  who  was 
supposed  to  be  dead,  but  was  only 
buried  for  eight  years  in  the  South 

M  Nonsense)  "  said  Carleigh.  "She 
doesn't  love  Kneedrock.  Never  did. 
I've  seen  them  together.  I've  heard 
them  lx>th  talk,  and  I  know." 

"I  ti  id  you  she  could  keep  a  se- 
cret," said  Sibylla  Yeynol. 

They  returned  to  Nice  before  din- 
ner, and  Carleigh  found  his  wife 
reading. 

"  Feeling  more  fit  ?  "  he  asked. 
I  shall  never  feel  more  fit,"  she 
answered   without   looking  up  from 
her  book. 

"You  don't  mean  it's  incurable? 
Have  you  had  in  the  physician?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  not  physical,"  she  replied 
petulantly*  '4  It's  mental.  It's  the 
conditions.  I'm  sick  of  everything. 
You  don't  care  in  the  least  for  me  any 
more.  You  haven't  since  mama  came 
hack.  You  had  an  assignation  with 
her  in  the  gardens  of  the  hotel  at  Vun- 
chal  the  very  next  morning,  and  you 
kissed  her  there  under  my  window.  I 
saw  you." 

The  thing  took  him  so  by  surprise 
that  he  couldn't  muster  a  single  word 
for  defense. 

"  I  do  wish  you'd  leave  me,"  she 
went  on.  "  W  hy  don't  you  ask  mama 
to  bolt  with  you:  I'm  sure  she  would, 
and  then  I'd  be  rid  of  you  both." 

He  nearly  reeled  under  the  shock  of 
that  speech.  It  held  him  still  mute.  It 
was  painfully  plain  that  something  was 
wrong  in  a  social  fabric  which  made  it 
possible  for  a  wife  to  say  such  a  thing 
—a  young  and  pretty  wife,  too.  And 


to  say  it  without  seeming  to  find  it  very 

heinous. 

He  noticed  that  she  yawned  and 
went  on  reading  her  book. 

When  he  fully  sensed  it  all,  hours 
later,  alone  on  the  promenade,  he  de- 
cided to  go  off.  But  not  with  "ma- 
ma." 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
A  Mysterious  Widow  of  Bath. 

JUST  as  soon  as  she  could  possibly 
manage  it  Nina  left  the  Dalgries, 
and  alone  with  her  maid  hied  her- 
self to  that  stupidest  of  all  English  re- 
sorts— Bath. 

There  ^he  took  a  flat  and  secured 
two  servants,  and  kept  herself  so  se- 
cluded that  the  story  went  abroad  that 
the  blind  beggar  in  the  famous  poem 
was  a  beauty  beside  her. 

Some  said  that  she  was  sightless  and 
some  that  she  had  been  scarred  beyond 
all  recognition :  but  nobody  really 
"knew  because  nobody  had  really  seen 
her. 

Nobody,  that  is  to  say,  except  her 
surgeon  and  his  assistant,  and  Del- 
phine,  the  French  maid. 

Nina  chose  Bath  because  of  this 
wonderful  surgeon,  Mr.  Pottow,  who 
was  connected  with  the  chief  hospital 
there,  and  knew  more  about  the  skin 
and  cutaneous  affections  than  anv 
man  in  England. 

He  promised  to  restore  her  if  res- 
toration were  possible,  but  he  was  very 
reticent  about  the  method  until  his 
success  was  assured.  Then  he  told 
her  that  it  had  been  necessary  to  resort 
to  the  grafting  of  new  and  healthy 
skin  t"  take  the  place  of  that  which 
had  been  scorched  practically  to  a 
cinder. 

44  But  where  did  you  get  it?  "  Nina 
asked,  deeply  interested.  She  knew 
that  it  had  not  been  taken  from  her 
and  transplanted. 

"  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  find  a 
volunteer,"  answered  the  surgeon. 

"  I  suppose  she  required  some  fab- 


THE  MAN-EATER. 


899 


ulous  price,"  Nina  rejoined.  "  But  if 
it  has  given  me  l>ack  an  unmarred 
countenance  I  shall  be  only  too  glad  to 
pay." 

4<  There  is  nothing  to  pay,"  Mr. 
Pottow  told  her.  "  He  gave  it  gra- 
tuitously, and  was  glad  to." 

"He  gave  it!"  exclaimed  the  pa- 
tient starting  up,  impelled  by  flooding 
emotions. 

"  Yes,  he." 

"  Shall  I  have  to  shave?  "  she  asked, 
seriously  startled  by  the  dread  possi- 
bility. 

"  No,"  came  the  answer  with  a 
smile.  "  The  skin  wasn't  from  his 
chin.  There'll  be  no  beard  to  bother 
you." 

"  I'd  much  rather  had  it  from  my 
own  sex,"  she  pouted. 

"  My  sex  is  less  selfish,"  said  the 
surgeon.  "  Few  women  would  sacri- 
fice their  cuticle  that  an  afflicted  sister 
might  regain  her  beauty." 

"  Still  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  being 
even  that  much  man,"  she  insisted.  "  I 
have  always  been  so  thoroughly  —  so 
entirely  feminine." 

"  The  cells  are  constantly  renewing 
themselves."  It  was  the  scientist 
speaking.  "  You  will  wear  these  only 
temporarily." 

Nina  thought  for  a  moment.  Then 
she  said :  "  Of  course  I  shall  pay  him. 
I  shall  insist  on  it." 

"  I'm  sure  he  won't  accept.  He  re- 
garded it  a  great  privilege,  he  was 
delighted  at  the  opportunity." 

And  at  that  she  became  really 
alarmed.  It  was  some  one  she  knew, 
of  course.  It  was  one  or  another,  no 
doubt,  of  the  army  of  lovers  she  had 
sent  about  their  business  when  their 
ardor  grew  too  oppressive. 

But  which  one?  Ah,  that  was  the 
question — which  one? 

"  But  you've  put  me  under  a  terrible 
obligation,"  she  complained.  "  I  think 
you  should  have  consulted  me,  Mr. 
1'ottow,  before  accepting  such  a  sacri- 
fice. I  am  very  uncomfortable  over 
it." 

"  You  should  have  been  more  un- 


comfortable disfigured  for  life,"  he  re- 
plied sagely. 

Of  course  it  wasn't  Nibbetts.  He 
would  delight  in  seeing  her  hideous. 
The  cabinet  minister  was  out  of  the 
question,  too.  He'd  be  sure  to  get  into 
the  newspapers.  Besides,  he  was  very 
bitter. 

The  soldier  of  fortune  was  out  of 
the  country.  And  Carleigh  was  mar- 
ried and  honeymooning.  The  Ameri- 
can aviator  had  been  killed  volplan- 
ing. 

I  It  might  be  the  poet."  she  said 
aloud. 

"  I  don't  think  he's  ever  been  guilty 
of  sonnets,"  observed  Pottow.  44  Still 
we  never  know.  He's  most  interested 
now  in  sheep-raising  and  in  quarrying 
freestone." 

II  Good  Heavens!  "  cried  Mrs.  Dar- 
ling. "  He  isn't  even  a  gentleman. 
How  could  you?  Oh,  how  could  vou, 
Mr.  Pottow?" 

He  smiled  quizzically  and  excused 
himself  with:  "I  hadn't  any  choice, 
you  know.  To  tell  the  truth,  I've  done 
so  much  of  this  sort  of  thing  that  I've 
reduced  the  visible  supply  of  skin, 
here  in  Bath,  to  the  minimum." 

44  I  don't  see  how  he  knew  me,"  she 
went  on,  puzzled.'  44  I'm  very  seclud- 
ed here.  I  don't  know  a  soul  in  the 
place,  except  you." 

44  You  know  him,  or  did.  He  says 
he  owes  you  something,  and — " 

"What  is  his  name?"  she  demand- 
ed, interrupting. 

"  I  thought  you'd  ask  that  before. 
But  you  wished  to  place  him  for  your- 
self, didn't  you?  And  I'm  afraid  you'll 
have  to.  You  see.  when  he  volun- 
teered it  was  on  certain  conditions: 
and  that  he  was  not  to  be  known  in  the 
premises  was  one  of  them." 

44  But  you've  told  me  everything  but 
his  name." 

"  That  was  especially  stipulated." 
•  "  And  I  am  never  to  be  any  the 
wiser?"  she  inquired.  44  That  seems 
hardly  fair.  Since  I  can't  pay  him  I 
certainlv  should  be  permitted  to  thank 
him." 


700 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


"  I'll  take  your  thanks  to  him." 

"  No.    1  wish  to  thank  him  myself, 

in  person."  • 
•  You  want  him  to  come  here?" 

"  I  want  him  to  come  here — jnst  as 
soon  as  I  am  fit  to  be  seen." 

"  He'll  come  to-day.  if  you  say  so," 
he  -urprised  her  with. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no.  Not  while  I'm 
like  this." 

"  But  he's  seen  you  worse  than  this, 
remember.  He's  been  in  this  room  I 
dozen — a  score  of  times." 

"Here!"  she  exclaimed,  amazed. 
Of  course.    While  your  eyes  were 
bandaged.     While  the  transfer  was 
made." 

Then  he  saw  how  awful  I  was?" 

"  I  fancy  he  didn't  regard  you  as 
awful    He  seemed — " 

But  she  wouldn't  let  him  go  on. 
"  Send  him  this  evening."  she  com- 
manded, "  and  I'll  have  the  lights  ar- 
ranged so  that  I  can  see  him  while  I 
myself  am  veiled  by  the  kindly 
shadow." 

When  the  surgeon  was  gone  Nina 
fell  to  w<  >ndering  once  more.  There 
were  flirtations  she  had  totally  forgot- 
ten ;  there  was  no  question  about  that. 
But  she  had  always  been  rather  a 
stickler  for  caste,  and  she  couldn't  at 
all  reconcile  the  sheep-raising  and  the 

ne-quarrying  with  any  of  her  light- 
ly amorous  adventures. 

Perhaps,  after  all.  she  had  been  on 
the  wrong  track.  Certainly  she  had 
been  on  the  wrong  track.  This  man 
'•wed  her  something,  the  perplexing 
Pottow  had  said,  meaning  evidently  a 
debt  of  gratitude. 

Then  it  couldn't  be  one  of  those. 
They  were  the  last  persons  to  think 
themselves  in  arrears  of  that  kind.  It 
must  be  some  one  she  had  befriended. 
She  supposed  she  had  befriended  poor 
men  oil  occasions,  but  she  couldn't  re- 
call individual  cases. 

Possibly  it  was  a  coachman  or  gar- 
dener, or  one  of  the  tenantry  at  some 
place  she  had  been  years  gone. 

Or — why  to  be  sure — some  private 
from  the  ranks,  who  had  completed 


his  service,  fallen  heir  to  a  little  farm 
and  a  little  quarry  here  in  Somerset- 
shire, and  settled  down  to  the  prosaic 
life  of  a  plodding  civilian. 

The  idea  robbed  the  prospect  of  the 
meeting  of  most  of  its  interest.  And 
it  was  the  only  idea  she  could  accept. 
She  even  forgot  to  tell  Delphine  that 
she  was  expecting  a  caller,  and  she  for- 
got, too,  to  have  the  lights  arranged  as 
she  had  planned. 

When,  therefore,  her  maid  came  to 
her  with  the  announcement  that  a  gen- 
tleman was  calling — a  gentleman  who 
wouldn't  give  his  name,  but  said  that 
he  came  at  Mr.  Pottow's  suggestion — 
she  was  not  in  the  least  prepared. 

"  Does  he  seem  a  gentleman.  Del- 
phine?" she  asked,  interested  afresh. 

"  Oh,  oui,  madame!  A  young  gen- 
tleman, and  good-looking." 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  him  before?  " 

"  Of  a  certainty,  madame.  Here, 
with  M.  Pottow." 

"  But  you  never  heard  his  name  ?  " 

"  Never,  madame." 

Then,  hastily,  she  had  her  arrange 
the  lights  and  give  her  a  fan  with 
which  to  mask  the  lower  part  of  her 
features  where  the  now  healing  burns 
were  still  more  or  less  unsightly. 

And  then  she  waited — sure  still  that 
she  was  to  be  disappointed. 

She  heard  the  steps  at  length  in  the 
passage,  and  fixed  her  eyes  upon  the 
door.  But  the  light  was  not  very  good 
there  either — she  had  had  it  concen- 
trated as  far  as  possible  on  the  chair 
placed  for  the  visitor  at  least  four 
yards  from  her  bedside,  toward  the 
foot  and  facing  her. 

He  was  in  the  room  now.  just  over 
the  threshold,  bowing  at  what  must 
have  seemed  to  him  just  a  black 
shadow,  and  save  that  he  was  tall,  and 
that  his  figure  was  gracefully  slender, 
what  she  saw  meant  nothing  to  her 
whatever.  He  hadn't  even  spoken,  so 
there  was  no  voice  to  recognize. 

As  he  came  forward,  though,  there 
was  something  in  his  walk  and  carri- 
age that  seemed  familiar,  though  she 
couldn't  place  them  for  the  life  of  her. 


THE  MAN-EATER. 


701 


"  Do  sit  down,"  she  urged.  "  There ! 
I'd  rather  you  wouldn't  come  nearer." 

Still  he  didn't  speak.  But  he  sat 
down  as  she  bade  him  with  the  light 
full  on  his  face,  and  she  saw  he  was 
Gerald  Andrews. 

It  was  quite  a  minute  before  she 
could  speak.  Then,  "  You — of  all  the 
persons  in  the  world !  "  she  breathed 
barely  above  a  whisper. 

"  It  is  odd  that  we  should  meet 
again  here  under  such  circumstances," 
he  agreed,  pleasantly  amused  over  her 
astonishment.  "  And  yet  not  so  sin- 
gular, either.  It's  a  tight  little  island, 
this,  and  any  two  persons  on  it  are 
more  or  less  likely  to  run  across  each 
other  in  time." 

"  But  I  thought  you  were  still  in 
India."  she  said. 

"  It's  three  years  since  I  came  home. 
The  governor  died  suddenly,  and — 
well,  there  were  things  to  be  looked 
after." 

Nina  smiled,  thinking  of  what  Mr. 
Pottow  had  told  her. 

"  Where's  little  boy  blue  that  looks 
after  the  sheep?  "  she  quoted.  "  Was 
that  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  the  sheep 
were  part  of  it.  But  the  quarry  is  the 
biggest  job." 

She  wondered  how  she  could  be  so 
rude  to  him  after  all  he  had  done. 
Somehow  it  didn't  just  seem  to  her  a 
gentleman's  work.  But  he  wasn't 
ashamed  of  it,  evidently.  And  she  was 
glad  of  that. 

"  I  read  in  the  newspapers  about 
your  misfortune,"  he  told  her.  tf  I'm 
glad  you  came  to  Pottow.  He's  the 
best  man  on  scars  in  all  England." 

"  Scars,"  she  repeated,  remember- 
ing. But  it  would  be  ruder  still  to  ask 
him  about  his.  She  wondered  whether 
he  really  did  think  of  her  every  time 
he  shaved. 

"  He  took  an  old  scar  out  for  me — 
a  very  delicate  bit  of  work,  too." 

"  How  vain  you  must  be !  "  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"No;  it  was  hardly  vanity.  I  was 
ashamed  of  it,  not  for  what  it  was,  but 


for  what  it  meant.  It  symbolized  cow- 
ardice, and  I  was  ashamed  of  that." 

"1  remember."  she  said;  "but  I'll 
forget  it,  if  you'd  rather." 

"  I  would  rather." 

"  You're  stronger  now,  aren't  you? 
I'm  so  glad." 

Then  for  the  first  time  came  some- 
thing of  that  old  boyish  lilt  in  his  voice 
that  recalled  the  Simla  days — days 
prior  to  the  night  of  the  season's  last 
dance  at  Viceregal  Lodge,  which 
wasn't  the  end  of  everything,  after  all. 

"Are  you  glad,  really?  "  he  asked, 
delighted.  "  Do  vou  care  just  that 
little  bit?" 

"  Indeed  I  am."  she  told  him.  11  I 
care  a  great  deal — for  your  happiness. 
I  want  you  to  be  happy." 

"  I'm  hardly  that."  he  confessed. 
"  That  is,  I  haven't  been.  But  I'm 
very  nearly  so  this  evening." 

She  must  have  experienced  some  lit- 
tle emotion,  for  she  forgot  her  fan  for 
an  instant  and  left  her  chin  unmasked. 
But  she  lifted  it  again  almost  in- 
stantly. 

"  How  good  you  have  been  to  me !  " 
she  murmured.  "  I  didn't  deserve 
such  sacrifice." 

"  It  wasn't  a  sacrifice.  It  was  a  de- 
light. Besides,  it  was  the  least  I  could 
do  to  make  good  for  being  a  cad  when 
you  were  in  trouble." 

Even  in  the  shadow  he  could  see 
that  she  didn't  understand.  Her  eyes 
showed  him  that. 

I  lost  my  head."  he  confessed.  "  I 
wasn't  only  weak;  I  was  half  wild.  It 
was  I  that  told  Dinghal  all  you'd  ever 
said  to  me.  Tt  was  I,  really,  who 
started  the  horrid  stories  that  got 
about.  I  feel  I  can  never  do  enough 
t<>  wipe  that  out." 

To  his  surprise  she  showed  no  re- 
sentment. "  T  dare  say  that  all  you 
said  wasn't  half  the  truth.  I  did  kill 
poor  Darling,  you  know." 

His  brow  contracted  to  a  frown. 

••  You  didn't,"  he  protested.  "  You 
couldn't — you  couldn't  have  meant  to. 
If  you  had  any  part  in  it.  it  was  acci- 
dental." 


702 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


She  didn't  insist.  All  she  said  was : 
"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  think  so 
well  of  me,  Gerald.  I  was  perfectly 
horrid  to  you.'' 

"  Were  you?"  he  asked,  dreaming. 
"  You  were  very  good  to  me,  ton.  I 
can't  forget  that.  I  don't  want  to. 
It's  that  and  that  only  I  care  to  re- 

member." 

"  \\\>uld  you  think  it  good  of  me  it 
I  should  let  you  come  every  day  to  see 
me?"  >he  asked  suddenly,  with  fresh 
impulse.  "  It's  a  privilege  I've  allowed 
no  one."  «  j-' 

"Oh.  will  you?"  he  cried,  delight- 
ed.   "  I  would  be  glad." 

'•  I've  seen  no  one  but  Mr.  Pottow, 
you  know:  not  even  my  oldest,  dearest 
"friends.    Not  my  own  people." 

His  smile  was  rapturous. 
I  know  it."  he  said.    "  Have  you 
heard  what  you  are  called  here?  No? 
Well,  you  are  '  the  mysterious  widow 
Of  Bath.'  " 

"Isn't  that  funny?"  she  laughed. 
44  Fancy  how  dull  I  have  been !  You 
will  come  and  amuse  me.  won't  you, 
Gerald?" 

u  Every  day.  And  if  ever  I  bore 
you,  or  you'd  rather  not  see  me,  say 
so.    You'll  do  that?" 

"  I'll  do  that.  And  " — she  hesitated 
just  an  instant — "  and  you  mustn't 
neglect  your  sheep  or  your  freestone, 
you  know.  If  you  don't  come  I'll 
know  a  lamb  has  strayed  from  the  fold 
and  you're  out  on  the  hill  looking  for 
it.   Do  you  carry  a  crook  ?  " 

"  My  shepherds  do,"  he  said  sol- 
emnly. 

"  Send  me  some  south-down  mut- 
ton. Gerald.  I'm  so  fond  of  chops." 
And  at  that  he  laughed. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  be  teased,"  he 
said  and  stood  up.  But  Nina  made 
him  sit  down  again.  She  was  enjoy- 
ing his  call  so  much.  She  made  him 
stay  another  hour. 

lie  came  every  day  after  that,  as  she 
bade  him.  She  usually  set  the  hour 
herself,  and  he  arrived  on  the  minute. 

As  he  was  leaving  one  afternoon  he 
heard  voices  in  the  vestibule.  The 


housemaid  was  sending  away  an  in- 
sistent caller. 

°  Mrs.  Darling  doesn't  see  any 
one,"  he  heard  her  say. 

"  But  I'm  sure  she'll  see  me,"  the 
persistent  male  voice  continued.  "  You 
just  take  her  my  card." 

"  She  forbids  me  to  fetch  cards."  re- 
joined the  housemaid.  "  I'm  sorry, 
sir." 

lie  heard  the  jingle  of  silver  coin. 
The  caller  was  about  to  resort  to  bri- 
bery. v  As  a  privileged  one,  out  of  com- 
passion for  Nina,  he  would  lend  his 
aid.  He  might  pretend  he  was  the  at- 
tending surgeon  or  physician,  and  that 
it  was  by  his  orders  that  the  patient 
was  denied  visitors. 

He  drew  the  door,  which  was  slight- 
ly a  jar,  wider.  He  made  a  third  in  the 
vestibule.  And  then  he  recognized  the 
caller.    It  was  Lord  Kneedrock. 

Nibbetts  recognized  him,  too.  He 
shrugged  his  hulking  shoulders  and 
thrust  his  handful  of  coins  back  into 
his  pocket.  Then  he  turned  to  the 
housemaid  again. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said  in  his  pene- 
trating undertone.  "  I  quite  under- 
stand.   Mrs.  Darling  sees  no  one." 

Then  he  reopened  the  outer  door 
and  stalked  lumberingly  away. 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
The  Disinterested  Married  Man. 

THERE  was  a  house-party  at  Pud- 
dlewood,  and  all  the  kinsfolk  and 
friends    who    haunted  Belling- 
down  were  there. 

"'Who's  seen  Nina?"  asked  the 
duchess. 

"  No  one,"  answered  Waltheof  la- 
conically. 

"  Too  bad.  when  she's  so  entertain- 
ing." said  the  duke.  "  I  always  say 
there's  no  one  like  Nina.  I  say,  Doody, 
don't  1  say  there's  nobody  like  Nina?  " 

"  Everybody  knows  what  you  think 
of  Mrs.  Darling."  affirmed  the  duchess 
calmly.  "  But  I  do  wonder  what  she 
looks  likel  " 


Charlotte  Grey  had  been  to  Bath, 
but  had  not  succeeded  in  seeing  the 
recluse.  She  got  as  far  as  Delphine, 
and  that  was  all. 

"Madame  ne  regoil  personne,"  said 
the  French  maid. 

"  Nibbetts  has  been,  too,"  said  Kitty 
Bellingdown.  "  And  he  was  equally 
unsuccessful." 

"  I  thought  she'd  have  seen  you," 
ventured  the  duchess. 

"  I  thought  so,  too;  but  it  appears 
not."  returned  Kneedrock  gloomily. 

Meanwhile  the  Carleigh  split-up  had 
occurred,  but  the  fact  had  not  yet 
reached  this  bureau  of  family  and 
friendly  counsel. 

Strolling  ruminantly  on  the  prom- 
enade at  Nice,  Caryll's  heart  turned 
thirstily  toward  the  giver  of  oblivion. 

ft  I  don't  care  what  she  looks  like, 
I  must  see  her."  he  said,  and  he  left' 
by  that  night's  Paris  rapid  e. 

On  the  journey  to  Bath  he  did  a 
great  deal  of  thinking.  He  hadn't 
been  happy  for  weeks — not  since  the 
night  Mrs.  Veynol  came  so  suddenly 
into  his  paradise  in  Madeira. 

It  is  idle  for  a  man  to  hope  to  keep 
his  perfect  balance  in  a  desperate  flir- 
tation with  his  own  mother-in-law. 
One  might  as  well  contemplate  tight- 
rope feats  on  a  newly  thrown  and,  con- 
sequently, not  firm  rope. 

Carleigh  realized  that  he  hadn't 
made  any  manner  of  success  of  the 
task.  And  the  worst  of  it  was  that  his 
wife  didn't  in  the  least  care. 

When  Sibylla  had  killed  her  daugh- 
ter's betrothal,  the  daughter  had  re- 
belled slightly.  She  had  been  pale — 
but  she  appeared  happy. 

Now.  however,  when  the  marriage 
had  gone  under,  she  exhibited  neither 
reluctance  nor  grief.  She  did  not  re- 
sent losing  her  husband  in  the  least. 
She  only  yawned  and  said :  "  Why 
don't  you  bolt  with  mama?"  and  then 
read  further. 

It  was  all  very  distressing — exceed- 
ingly  distressing.  But  now  he  was 
nearing  Bath  and  Nina.  And  that 
meant  consolation. 


Nina,  receiving  his  card,  experienced 
a  rush  of  vivid  anticipation.  Is  there 
any  situation  so  piquant  as  that  of 
meeting  the  man  one  did  not  marry 
after  he  has  ti  hashed  it  "  with  another 
woman  ? 

Her  embargo  had  been  lifted  that 
morning,  and  the  precious  new  skin — 
partly  Gerald's,  partly  her  own — 
which  the  specialist  had  worked  so 
hard  to  foster  into  beauty  was  at  last 
firm  enough  to  stand  the  gaze  of  the 
most  critical  of  all  judges  —  the  man 
that  one  might  have  married. 

Carleigh,  waiting  in  the  drawing- 
room,  was  far  more  nervous  than  she 
was.  He  had  been  told  that  she  was 
horribly  disfigured,  and  he  expected  to 
find  her  so. 

Now  he  could  hear  her  step  in  the 
passage.  She  was  outside  there  in  the 
chill  hall.  Then  the  latch  clicked,  the 
portiere  swung,  and — he  was  rising  to 
touch  Nina  Darling's  hand  again. 

After  all  these  months!  The  bed- 
room and  the  bandages  rushed  back 
upon  his  memory,  and  he  was  prepared 
to  need  self-control  when  he  should 
look  up.  But  when  he  did  look  up  he 
saw,  with  a  curious  jump  in  his  heart, 
that  she  was  not  scarred. 

Then  in  the  same  instant  that  he 
realized  she  was  unchanged  he  knew 
himself  to  be  greatly  changed — brand- 
ed on  brow  as  well  as  in  soul.  And  he 
felt  that  through  and  through. 

He  took  her  hand — both  hands — in 
his  and  gazed  thirstily  into  her  eyes — 
a  serene  violet-blue. 

"  I've  blundered,  too,"  he  said  as 
a  greeting.  "  I've  made  an  unhappy 
marriage,  too.  now.  I  have  more 
sympathy  for  you  than  I  had.  But  she 
never  plays  with  guns,  unfortunately." 

He  laughed,  really  quite  gaily,  for 
he  was  most  awfully  glad  to  feel  her 
hand  in  his  again.  And  she  laughed 
as  well. 

"  It's  funny  how  people  talk,  isn't 
it?"  she  said.  "Of  course  I  never 
had  anything  to  do  with  it ;  but  people 
like  to  talk — after  all  these  years,  too. 
It  was  just  an  accident." 


704 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


And  it  was  just  the  only  day  that 
she  had  insisted  the  reverse.  But  that 
was  to  another  man — a  different  type 

of  man. 

Tie  laughed  ami  put  his  arm  about 

her.  "  Kiss  me,  dear."  he  said.  "  I'm 
so  very  unhappy." 

li  she  had  averted  her  head  he 
would  have  been  her  slave  afresh;  but 
she  didn't  avert  her  head.  Instead  she 
kissed  him  placidly — so  placidly  that 
he  almost  started. 

"You  see  you're  married  now,"  she 
told  him  and  drew  her  hand  out  of  his 
ami  went  and  sat  down. 

He  felt  stunned  and  sick.  It  was 
as  if  there  was  no  bottom  anywhere 
for  a  little.    But  then  he  remembered. 

"  Nina."  he  said,  calling  her  again 
that  which  in  all  the  fervor  of  his 
nomenclature  during  the  passionate, 
passcd-by  period  he  had  so  often 
voiced.  "  Nina,  I've  come  to  ask  a 
great  kindness  at  your  hands — two,  in 
fact." 

She  sat  quiet,  staring  at  him  with 
those  lash-veiled  eyes  that  had  driven 
him  and  so  many,  many  others  not 
quite  mad;  and,  had  the  lesson  he  had 
spent  months  conning  in  such  a  hell 
as  may  exist  amid  our  earthly  sur- 
roundings been  a  bit  less  bitter  and 
thorough,  he  must  have  felt  that  near- 
madness  course  in  his  veins  again.  But 
lit  was  seared  so  that  no  near-madness 
was  for  him  any  more. 

"  How  you've  changed !  "  she  ob- 
served, not  seeming  to  notice  his 
speech,  and  speaking  herself  in  a 
certain  tone  of  absolute  childlike 
wonder,  which  was  not  the  least  of 
the  weapons  in  her  arsenal  of  per- 
sonal persuasion.  "  Why.  you've  lines 
across  your  forehead — at  your  age. 
too!  Lines  that  I  can  see  even  from 
here." 

Never  mind,"  he  said:  and  then 
some  impulse  led  him  to  go  over  and 
kneel  beside  her.  conscious  only  of  an 
acute  wonder  as  to  what  would  come 
next.  11  Never  mind,  dear  girl,  listen 
to  me." 

She  put  her  hand  upon  his  head. 


u  And  white  hairs,"  she  pursued, 
tracing  them  with  an  astonished  fin- 
ger. "  At  your  age,  too.  One — five. 
Why,  I  can  count  eight." 

"  Never  mind,"  he  repeated,  pulling 
down  the  impertinent  finger  and  won* 
dering  as  he  did  so  that  its  fresh 
imprisonment  left  him  so  pitifully, 
piteously,  unthrilled.  u  Never  mind — 
I  don't  care  what  I  look  like  any 
more. 

"  It  s  all  so  futile — Tife  is  so  empty 
— things  seem  to  me  so  very,  very 
trivial.  What  are  wrinkles  beside 
things — untellable  things — that  stone 
one's  immortality  and  make  one  wish 
that  on  the  Judgment  Day  God  Him- 
self wouldn't  know!" 

Even  as  he  spoke  he  caught  himself 
questioning  whether  she  believed  him 
— whether  his  words  stirred  any  feel- 
ing in  her. 

She  dropped  her  eyes  and  pulled 
her  hand  free. 

"  I  know  what  you  mean."  she  said 
in  a  toneless  voice.  "  I  had  such  se- 
crets, too.  But  they're  not  what 
people  fancy  them  to  be.  People  think 
I  killed  my  husband  ;  but  I  didn't.  I 
did  what  you've  done — what  we  all 
do.    I  killed  myself." 

He  looked  at  her.  It  was  such  a 
pitiless,  relentless  glare — that  into 
which  her  words  thrust  his  conscious- 
ness. 

"  I  can't  believe  that  yours  were  like 
mine."  he  said  miserably.  "  No  one 
can  ever  have  done  what  I  have  done. 
Yes,  you're  right — and  it  has  killed 
me." 

She  didn't  seem  greatly  interested. 

"  But  I  didn't  come  to  talk  of  that," 
he  exclaimed  quickly.  "  I  came  to  ask 
of  vou  two  things.  Will  you  grant 
them?  " 

She  turned  her  head,  leaving  only 
her  profile  showing.  "  Certainly  not." 
she  said.    "  T  will  grant  you  nothing." 

"You  mustn't  say  that.  You  don't 
know  what  I'm  asking." 

"  You're  married,"  she  told  him, 
*'  and  I  won't  have  a  thing  to  do  with 
you.    I  hate  the  love-making  of  mar- 


THE  MAN-EATER. 


705 


ned  men.  It's  dangerous,  too.  for  they 
always  talk." 

That  dull,  heavy  red  that  had  been 
crimson  before  he  took  on  chains  stole 
over  his  face. 

"  I'll  tell  you  without  asking,  then," 
he  said.  It  may  not  be  the  great  and 
tremendous  thing  to  you  that  it  is  to 
me.  I  think,  perhaps,  that  you  may 
even  laugh." 

"  Very  likely,"  she  assented. 

He  rose  and  went  to  the  chimney- 
piece  and  stood  there,  striving  for 
greater  quietude.  It  was  a  long  mo- 
ment— minutes  long. 

Then,  finally,  he  threw  over  his 
shoulder.  "  Xina.  you  must  hear  me. 
I'm  going  away.  I'm  going  to  cut  it 
all.  Suetonius  was  pretty  bad,  but  you 
can  be  tracked  by  a  mother-in-law  until 
lite  becomes  hideous.    I — " 

u  But  everybody  knew  why  your  be- 
trothal was  called  off,"  she  said  with 
simple  finality;  "and  then  you  delib- 
erately married  the  girl  even  after 
that." 

"  I  know — I  know — I  know."  he 
cried  in  irritation  ;  "  but  those  things 
must  be  written  in  the  Book  of  Fate. 
Some  curses  must  be  launched  beyond 
recall.  At  any  rate,  it's  done.  We 
both  know  that." 

"  Yes,  we  know  that,"  she  agreed 
simply. 

"  And  now  I  am  going  away,  and 
I'm  not  sure  that  I  shall  ever  return. 
But  I  want  an  object  in  going,  and  I 
would  rather  have  it:  something  in 
connection  with  you  than  anything 
eise  on  earth.  I've  thought  what  I 
.want  to  do,  and  I  wish  you'd  give  me 
permission  to  do  it. 

"Of  course  there  was  a  man  you 
loved,  and  of  course  you  love  him  yet. 
Equally  of  course  he  accounts  for 
everything,  and  of  course  he's  still 
alive  or  you'd  be  a  better  woman.  Tf 
he  was  dead  he'd  have  a  hold  over  you 
thru  would  keep  you  straight." 

"  How  funny  for  you  to  know  all 
that!"  she  exclaimed,  opening  her 
eyes  very  wide.  "  You  certainly  have 
been  learning."    Then  she  broke  forth 

9  a-s 


into  laughter.  "  And  if  it  were  the 
duke  now !  " 

*'  Don't  laugh,"  he  cried  angrily. 
"  I  tell  you  I'm  in  earnest.  I  know- 
that  there's  a  man,  and  that  he's 
s(  mewhere.  Well,  then,  I  want  to  go 
where  he  is,  and  to  see  him  face  to 
face,  and  to  try  to  right  whatever 
separates  you.  I've  got  to  get  away — 
and  far  away — and  I'll  be  able  to 
build  some  sort  of  respect  for  myself 
if  I  know  that  I've  a  good  purpose 
and  a  clean  mission." 

She  wasn't  laughing  now.  He  was 
very  much  in  earnest,  and  she  had 
caught  some  of  his  seriousness.  It 
w  as  contagious. 

"  J  understand  what  persons  like 
you  and  me  can  suffer,  and  how  much 
they  need  help,  and  how  the  mock  of 
love  unfulfilled  can  drive  them  into 
hideous  rocks  and  sink  them  in  a 
seething  whirlpool  of  temptations.  I 
can  read  your  life  like  a  book  now 
— can  read  it  by  the  lurid  light  of  my 
own  burning  wreck.  And  so  I  know- 
that  whatever  might  happen  you 
would  be  forgivable.  And  it's  what 
I  know — what  I  have  learned — that  I 
want  to  tell  him.  And  whatever  is 
wrong — if  he  believes  it — if  I  can 
make  him  believe —  However,  it — " 
And  there  he  stopped — broke  off  ab- 
ruptly. 

Nina  was  staring  at  him  hard. 

He  had  spoken  so  fast  and  in  such 
a  passion  of  pleading  that  he  appeared 
to  be  for  the  moment  breathless.  She 
sat  there  before  him  in  the  low  chair 
she  had  chosen,  and  her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  him. 

He  had  poured  forth  the  last 
phrases  with  his  head  bowed  and  his 
hands  gripping  the  edge  of  the  velvet- 
draped  shelf  behind  him. 

It  was  she  who  spoke  next. 

"  There  is  no  one  for  you  to  go  to." 
she  said — "  no  one  in  all  the  wide 
world.  As  to  my  husband,  it  was  a 
kind  of  accident.'  But  really  I  didn't 
care  if  it  hadn't  been.  All  my  crimes 
are  against  myself.  I've  injured  no 
one  else.    Do  you  understand?" 


706 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


He  nodded  dumbly,  feeling  rather 

blank. 

'  There  is  no  "man*  in  my  life." 
she  went  on.  "I  never  have  '  loved  ' 
as  women  are  supposed  to  love.  I've 
just  liked  men — liked  them  as  such — 
that  was  all." 

She  pause*!  briefly,  looking  at  him, 
expecting  some  word ;  but  he  was 
silent 

"  I've  never  been  really  bad."'  she 
continued.  "I've  never  wanted  to  be 
bad.  But  I  like  to  be  kissed,  and  I've 
been  so  unhappy  through  just  sheer 
loneliness  that  I  could  only  remember 
a  tew  of  the  commandments,  and  the 
marriage  service  not  at  all." 

Sir  Caryll  Carleigh  stood  very  still 
there,  trying  to  read  her  meaning  in 
her  face,  but  failing. 

"  Pretty  nearly  even-  one  thinks  I 
was  in  love  with  Kneedrock,"  she 
pursued  presently.  "  You  may  ask 
him  about  that  if  you  like.  And  they 
think  that  we  made  way  with  poor 
Darling  between  us.  But  they  are 
wrong." 

She  paused  again,  in  doubt  whether 
or  not  to  say  more — whether  or  not 
to  tell  the  truth — the  whole  truth — as 
she  had  never  told  it  before.  Carleigh 
neither  urged  nor  encouraged,  but  of 
her  own  free  will  she  decided.  It  was 
due  him  in  a  way.  and  frank  confes- 
sion might  probably  be  the  best  thing 
for  her.  She  had  carried  the  burden 
alone  now  for  five  years,  always 
growing  heavier,  and  the  temptation 
to  share  it  was  too  much  for  her. 

"  He  was  cleaning  his  gun,  you 
see  " — that  was  how  she  began  it;  just 
that  simply — n  and  a  cartridge  shell 
stuck  in  the  barrel.  He  tried  to  get 
it  out.  and  then  he  held  it — the  gun. 
I  mean — and  asked  me  to  try — with  a 
sharp  thing,  you  know.  He  thought 
that  it  was  an  empty  shell  and  so  did 
1-     Rut  it  wasn't.   'That  was  all." 

Carleigh  shivered  ever  so  slightly- 
"  You  cannot  say  that  you  didn't  kill 
him.  then,"  he  declared.' 

She  pursed  her  lips  a  bit  thought- 
fully.   Already  she  felt  better.  She 


had  not  misjudged  the  effect — she  was 

relieved. 

"  No;  because  of  course  I  did.  But. 
on  the  other  hand,  of  course  I  didn't. 
Anyhow,  it  mattered  very  little.  I  was 
sc  mad  over  life  and  living  that  his 
death  seemed  a  very  small  event  to 
me.  I  couldn't  remember  a  thing  at 
first. 

"  The  shot  seemed  to  have  stunned 
my  memory.  But  it  all  came  back  later 
— horridly.  The  scene,  I  mean.  Yet 
the  event — the  fact  that  poor  Darling 
was  gone — appeared  of  so  little  im- 
portance. And  I  foolishly  expected 
the  world  to  see  it  as  I  did." 

"  But  the  world  didn't  ?  " 

"  No  "  she  shook  her  head  quite  se- 
riously— "  the  world  chose  to  talk,  and 
has  talked  ever  since.  So  very  stu- 
pidly, too." 

Carleigh  felt  dazed.  Nina's  view- 
point was  very  puzzling  at  times. 

"  And  yet  I  understand,"  he  said, 
seizing  on  the  most  obvious  end  of 
the  tangle.  "  I  don't  suppose  I'd — 
you  see  I  have  been  so  close  to 
desperation  myself  —  I  don't  suppose 
Fd  care  either,  if — "  But  he  got  no 
further. 

Nina  hooked  her  fingers  together 
tightly  behind  her  head. 

"  I  wouldn't  think  such  thoughts  if 
I  were  you,"  she  said  quite  gravely. 
"  You  know  if  you  do.  the  chance 
comes,  and  then  you  do  something 
— and  God — only  God — will  ever 
measure  you  by  what  you  really  did 
mean." 

Then  she  looked  at  him  very  in- 
tently and  went  on  with  great  impres- 
siveness  both  of  tone  and  emphasis: 
"  I  did  give  a  most  awful  jab  with  that 
sharp  thing,  and  the  cartridge  ex- 
ploded and  killed  my  husband,  and — 
T  was  glad.  So,  of  course,  I  am  a 
murderess  at  heart.    Don't  you  see?" 

"  Yes,  I  see."  said  Carleigh  som- 
berly. 

And  that  was  my  crime."  she  con- 
tinued— u  that  I  wanted  to  do  it,  And 
the  results  haven't  mattered  so  much. 
What  matters  is  that  /  wanted  to  do 


THE  MAN-EATER. 


707 


it.  That's  all  that  matters.  All  that 
can  ever  matter." 

"  I  understand,''  said  the  man,  his 
voice  so  low  that  the  words  were  bare- 
ly art  icn  late. 

There  was  a  long,  grim  silence 
which  grew  oppressive. 

"*  It's  years  ago,  is  it  not?  "  he  asked 
then. 

"  Five  years,''  she  answered.  •  It's 
not  a  pretty  story,  is  it  ?  How  the 
duchess  enjoys  telling  it!  What  she 
knows  and  what  she  thinks.  And  she's 
my  great-aunt.  Fancy  what  fun  it  has 
afforded  the  rest  of  the  world !  " 

"  That  is  unworthy  of  you,"  Car- 
leigh  rebuked  under  his  breath  —  "  to 
rail  about  the  horror  that  has  blighted 
your  life.  I  can't  laugh  over  horrors. 
They  turn  me  cold  in  the  night." 

Ah,  but  I've  grown  used  to  mine," 
she  returned  lightly.  "  And  besides, 
it  wasn't  so  bad  as  what  followed — as 
the  realizing  that  I  could  never  be  clean 
again.  I  wonder  if  all  those  who've 
Mimed  as  I  have  sinned  are  trying  to 
rill  an  empty  life  as  I've  been  trying!  " 

He  moved  to  a  seat,  sank  down  and 
clutched  his  head  between  his  hands. 
M  But  love  wasn't  killed  in  you — you 
rind  pleasure  in  men.  It  has  been  in 
me." 

She  whirled  in  her  seat  so  sudden- 
ly i hat  he  started. 

Good  Heavens!  "  she  cried.  M  you 
don't  fancy  that  1  get  any  real  joy  out 
of  flirting,  do  you?  Why,  it's  only  to 
pass  the  time.  I  never  forget  for  one 
second.    I — I  couldn't." 

There  was  another  silence — briefer, 
this  lime — and  then  Carleigh  rose,  a 
bit  heavily. 

You're  horribly  human,  you 
kn<»w."  he  said.  "I  don't  know  what 
to  gay  Qt  what  to  do.  I  know  only  that 
I  long  more  than  ever  for  you.  Y'ou 
—you  couldn't  care  for  me  again.  I 
suppose?  " 

She  began  to  laugh.  "  Oh.  you  very 
manlike  man!"  she  cried.  "As  if  I 
didn't  know  that  was  what  you  came 
lor.  \o;  1  couldn't  ever  care  for 
you.    No;  not  possibly." 


There  was  a  tap  on  the  door  and  the 
housemaid  entered  with  a  card  for 
Nina,  who  knew  whose  name  it  bore 
before  she  glanced  at  it. 

"'Certainly.  Wilson,"  she  said: 
"  show  Mr.  Andrews  in  at  once." 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
The  Interested   Married  Man. 

IORD  KXEEDROCK  lived,  when 
u    he  was  in  town,  in  a  small  suite 

in  St.  James's  Square. 
Here  Carleigh  came  on  a  bright 
morning,  three  days  later,  to  find 
Kneedrock  in  the  little  sitting-room 
reading  before  a  fire,  three  windows 
open  and  two  dogs  asleep  at  his  feet. 

They  talked  for  half  an  hour  before 
the  visitor  reached  his  point. 

"  She  told  me  all,"  he  said,  then. 
"  I  suppose  it's  fairest  to  say  outright 
that  she  told  me  all." 

Kneedrock  didn't  look  at  him.  He 
was  smoking  his  pipe,  and  his  gaze 
fixed  itself  on  the  curling  clouds  of 
smoke  that  eddied  itf  the  cross-cur- 
rents of  air  from  the  open  windows. 

"'  1  suppose  that  she  told  you  she 
was  to  blame,  eh?  "  he  drawled  after  a 
moment. 

"  She  said  that  she  hadn't  cared 
what  happened." 

"  It  isn't  a  pretty  story,  no  maitcr 
how  you  look  at  it,"  the  viscount  ob- 
served, putting  his  reflections  into 
words.  "  Two  desperate  persons  who 
didn't  care  what  happened.  Poor  Dar- 
ling! He  didn't  care  what  happened, 
cither,  don't  you  know.  I've  often 
wondered  if  he  didn't  load  the  thing 
and  call  her  to  manage  the  discharge." 

Carleigh's  eyes  were  fascinatedly 
fixed  on  the  flames  in  the  grate — little 
blue,  dancing  devils  of  light  whose 
heat  was  overpowered  by  the  chill 
from  outside. 

"  I  thought  of  that,  too,"  he  said, 
grimly. 

''Poor  Darling!"  Kneedrock  went 
on  musingly.  "  I  saw  him  before  any 
one  else.    The  smoke  hadn't  cleared 


768 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


away.    His  face  was  quite  gone,  you 
know.    It  was  awful." 
*'  Good  God !  " 

There  was  a  little  pause,  and  then 

the  older  man  said  : 

•  W  hat  horrible  things  go  on  in  the 
world,  anyhow !  " 

"  Yes."  the  other  said  simply. 

"I  saw  him  after  that,  though." 
pursued  Kneedrock,  "  in  his  coffin, 
tricked  out  in  his  dress  uniform,  a 
handkerchief  spread  where  his  face 
used  to  be,  and  his  head  on  a  silk  pil- 
low, lie  looked  very  peaceful.  Glad 
it  was  all  over,  I  dare  say." 

Carleigh  only  nodded,  still  looking 
at  the  6re.  And  then  there  was  an- 
other pause,  which  Kneedrock  broke 
eventually  with:  "  We're  awfully 
primitive.  .  .  .  Still  Nina's  story 
wasn't  strictly  primitive.  It  was  all 
warped  and  twisted  by  civilization. 

"  In  the  stone  age  things  would  have 
been  different.  The  troglodyte  would 
have  clubbed  Darling,  and  later,  if  the 
lady  played  tricks,  he  would  have  end- 
ed her  in  the  same  way.  That's  how  to 
manage  women." 

He  stretched  out  his  iron  hand  and 
wrist  and  looked  at  them  —  his  right 
hand  and  wrist,  not  the  scarred  ones. 
11 1  hate  civilization,"  he  said  then 
suddenly.  44  I  hate  honor,  and  no- 
blesse oblige,  and  all  such  tommyrot. 
It's  the  ruin  of  the  race." 

He  spoke  slowly  now,  but  with  a 
frightful  bitterness. 

'*  Yes,"  said  Carleigh,  sympathy 
swelling  quick,  "  we've  gone  a  long 
way  from  the  truth  of  existence." 

*"  It  isn't  any  use  going  on  a  wild- 
goose  chase  after  happiness  in  these 
times,"  Kneedrock  went  on.  "  You 
can't  cure  your  ills,  nowadays.  I  tried 
to  help  myself  once,  and  made  the 
worst  kind  of  a  mess  of  it.  Go  back 
to  your  wife,  or  go  off  with  your 
mother-in-law,  but  don't  imagine  that 
either  course  is  going  to  help  you  to 
happiness.    Because  it  isn't." 

Carleigh  was  looking  Nibbetts 
straight  in  the  eves  now. 

"  And  yet,"  he  said  frankly.    "  I 


think  that  I  could  be  happy— quite 
happy — with  Mrs.  Darling." 

"  No,  you  couldn't,"  returned  the 
viscount  sharply  —  gruffly,  in  fact. 
"  You  couldn't.     She's  too  shallow." 

"  Shallow?" 

M  Yes,  shallow.  She  has  no  depths 
— of  feeling,  or  anything  else.  Her 
whole  life  shows  that.  She  was  too 
pretty  when  she  was  young.  She  led 
her  husband  a  devil  of  a  dance,  and 
she'll  never  reform. 

M  You  must  go  after  some  other 
trail  or  grail,  or  whatever  you  choose 
to  call  it.  You  can  never  either  help 
Nina  or  get  her.  Take  my  word  for 
that." 

Carleigh.  who  wasn't  in  any  sense 
a  strong  character,  felt  depressed  at 
the  words.  Kneedrock,  who  was  a 
very  strong  character,  relit  his  pipe 
and  waited.  After  a  little  the  other 
said  : 

"  Do  you,  by  any  chance,  know  a 
man  named  Andrews?" 

"  I  know  one  Andrews."  answered 
Kneedrock.  and  this  time  he  held  out 
his  left  hand  and  wrist.  n  It  was  he 
who  gave  me  that,"  he  added,  indica- 
ting the  healed  wound.  "  the  night  be- 
fore poor  Darling  was  shot." 

"In  India?" 

"  In  India." 

"  What  sort  of  a  chap?  " 

"  Tallish,  rather  good-looking, 
brown  eyes  and  hair,  young.  Was  in 
the  civil  service." 

Carleigh  looked  puzzled.  "  I  won- 
der if  it  could  have  been  the  same?" 
he  asked,  half  to  himself.  "  I  met  him 
at  Mrs.  Darling's  the  day  1  called." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say,"  said  Kneedrock, 
non-committally.  rl  He's  followed  her 
after  five  years.  Once  one  gets  the  vi- 
rus in  one's  blood,  it's  likely  to  break 
out  any  time.  So  Andrews  is  at 
Bath !  » 

"  He  seemed  to  be  quite  at  home." 

"  Doubtless  he  is.  Nina  can  make 
one  feel  that  way.  He  was  very  much 
at  home  in  the  Darling  bungalow  at 
Umballa.  Just  before  he  fired  at  me 
he  and  Nina  seemed  to  be  sharing  a 


THE  WHITE  GORILLA". 


709 


single  chair.  You  see,  I  was  there  on 
a  spying  expedition." 

"  You  mean — "  queried  Carleigh. 
He  couldn't  just  reconcile  Kneedrock 
and  the  word. 

"  I'd  heard  that  Darling  was  cruel 
to  her  and  I  traveled  all  the  way  from 
Tuamota  to  the  Punjab  to  find  out." 

Sir  Caryll  held  his  peace  and  Knee- 
drock  added.  "Of  course  I  found  it 
was  the  most  unwarranted  slander. 
Darling  was  a  saint." 

He  got  up  and  closed  the  three  win- 
dows. Then  he  poked  the  coals,  and 
took  a  place  on  the  hearth  rug  with  his 
back  to  the  grate.   The  clogs  still  slept. 

"4  So  she's  amusing  herself  with  An- 
drews again,  eh!  "  he  chuckled.  "  Re- 
calling those  halcyon  days  of  blood- 
shed, I  suppose." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Carleigh,  thought- 
fully. "  now,  after  all  these  years,  she'll 
marry  him." 

Oh.  no.  she  won't,"  flashed  from 


Kneedrock.  who  was  smiling.  "  She 
can't,  you  know." 

"  J  don't  see  why  not,"  the  other  re- 
joined. *  She's  her  own  mistress. 
She's  of  age,  and  a  widow,  and  of 
sound  mind.'' 

The  viscount  maintained  a  rather 
disconcerting  silence  for  the  space  of 
several  seconds,  puffing  at  his  pipe  and 
following  the  smoke  with  is  eyes.  Then 
he  patted  the  head  of  the  nearest  dog 
with  the  toe  of  his  boot. 

When,  finally,  he  spoke,  it  was  to 
ask :  "Did  you  ever  hear  me  spoken 
of  as  her  lover? " 

"  Yes."  answered  Carleigh,  sur- 
prised beyond  words. 

Kneedrock  raised  his  head  and  his 
eyes  as  they  rested  for  a  moment  upon 
Sir  Caryll's  were  curiously  devoid  of 
expression. 

"  I  was,"  he  said  with  a  sort  of  dry 
grimncss.  "  I'm  more  than  that — I'm 
her  husband/1 

TO  BE  CONCLUDED  NEXT  WEEK.    Don't  forget  this  magazine  U  issued  weekly,  and  that 
you  will  get  the  conclusion  of  this  story  without  waiting  a  month. 


a  Elmer  Brown  Mason 


OR  eight  months  no  word1 
came  from  my  friend  Van 
Dam. 

Those  of  us  in  his  debt 
virtuously  assured  our- 
selves that  we  had  intend- 
ed to  pay  him  back  at  once, 
Bjld  tried  to  bear  up;  others  who 
wished  to  lx>rrow  were  naturally  some- 
what  resentful  at   his  absence.  As 


usual,  he  had  given  no  intimation  of 
his  flitting,  and  all  who  called  at  his 
diggings — so  he  designated  the  enor- 
mous top-story  apartment  where  he 
dwelt  among  his  countless  trophies  and 
collections  —  were  met  by  the  always 
smiling  Jap  with  the  information : 
"  Mr.  Van  Dam.  he  will  be  back — oh, 
quite  soon  some  day." 

This  same  phrase  had  excused  a 


710 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


two  years'  disappearance  of  his  master 
in  the  interior  of  Borneo.  Gradually 
we  ceased  to  think  of  him.  and  each 
little  life  traveled  around  its  own  re- 
stricted orbit  as  though  the  absentee 
had  ceased  to  exit. 

My  own  affairs  were  going  rather 
well  and  orders  simply  poured  in.  This 
halcyon  state  was  due  to  a  Hercules, 
for  which  Van  had  provided  me  with 
an  extraordinary  model,  and  a  Pitts- 
burgh millionaire  bought  because  it 
\va»  the  image  of  a  fellow  steel  worker 
he  had  known  in  his  undollared  youth. 

These  orders,  however,  were  entire- 
ly for  portraits,  which  I  do  not  like 
doing-  —  my  forte  is  large  allegorical 
canvases,  though  Van  thinks  different- 
ly— but  never  having  had  any  money. 
I  developed  a  lust  for  it  and  painted 
all  who  paid.  My  most  lucrative  com- 
mission had  just  come  to  me,  a  por- 
trait for  a  political  club  of  one  of  its 
most  prominent — and  worst — mem- 
bers, and  it  was  giving  me  a  great  deal 
of  trouble.  To  begin  with,  the  man 
would  not  sit  more  than  fifteen  min- 
ute- at  a  time,  and  his  face  was  sim- 
ply horrible. 

I  painted  it  first,  nearly  from  mem- 
ory, in  all  its  brutal  reality  of  low 
forehead,  eyes  set  far  back,  and  enor- 
mous jaw  development  —  a  positively 
bestial  thing.  And  it  looked  not  the 
slightest  like  the  original. 

Then  I  conceived  the  idea  that  a  soul 
was  shining  through  this  fleshy  mask 
and  put  the  light  of  holiness  in  the 
eyes,  the  curve  of  renunciation  at  the 
corner  of  the  lips.  When  my  man 
called,  his  own  face  made  its  painted 
counterpart  look  like  the  delineation 
of  some  kindly  saint.  That  day  I  de- 
voted myself  solely  to  the  hands — 
veritable  Gargantuan  paws  they  were 
— and  after  he  had  left,  very  discour- 
aged, started  to  scrape  and  turn  the 
face.  Jt»!  as  I  had  eliminated  all  but 
chin  and  forehead  the  phone  rang. 

"Hello!"  I  said  crisply  into  the 
transmitter  with  the  intonation  I  have 
adopted  since  I  consider  myself  a  suc- 
cessful artist. 


"  Come  to  dinner,  painter-man,'* 
drawled  Van's  voice  over  the  wire.  "  I 
have  something  to  show  you." 

**  I'm  very  busy,"  I  answered  loftily; 
"  but  I'll  try  to  manage  it  if  you'll  tell 
me  lie  forehand  what  we  are  eating." 

Van  has  one  idiosyncrasy  that  is 
positively  ghastly.  He  is  always  cook- 
ing the  most  awful,  uncivilized  dishes 
concealed  in  such  delectable  sauces  that 
you  can't  help  liking  them  till  you  find 
out  what  they  are.  At  his  table  I  have 
eaten  a  lizard  creature  tasting  exactly 
like  delicate  chicken,  and  a  savory  dish 
of  what  appeared  to  be  roasted  oysters 
and  was  really  the  larva?  of  the  black 
palm  weevil. 

"  What  are  you  busy  with?"  came 
over  the  wire.  "If  it's  a  Vulcan,  I 
have  a  good  model  for  you." 

"  I'm  trying  to  paint  a  baboon,"  I 
snapped,  '*  and  no  model  will  do." 

"  Surprising."  he  answered  in  really 
animated  tones.  "  I  can  furnish  you 
with  a  gorilla,  and  I  have  a  young 
cannibal  here  to  go  with  it." 

"  Am  I  to  act  as  a  meal  for  your 
guests?  "  I  began,  but  he  had  hung  up. 

Van  and  I  dined  luxuriously  on 
what  1  took  to  be  very  young  lamb  and 
afterward  adjourned  to  the  den.  on  the 
walls  of  which  are  ranged  the  cases 
containing  his  albino  collection — the 
traditional  white  blackbird,  the  enor- 
mous, glittering,  white  toucan,  the 
snowy  racoon,  the  white  panther,  and 
that  last  acquisition  in  a  huge  case  by 
itself.  There  was  a  roaring  wood  fire, 
and  before  it.  partially  covered  by  a 
snow -leopard's  skin,  twitched,  while 
he  slept,  the  cofYec-colored  slim  can- 
nibal boy.  Once  he  reached  up  a  long, 
bare  foot  and  scratched  his  ear  exactly 
as  a  dog  attends  to  a  flea. 

There  was  a  livid,  five-inch  scar  on 
Van's  cheek,  and  while  he  talked  the 
blood  would  pidse  to  its  top.  run  down 
underneath  the  skin,  and  disappear 
exactly  as  an  electric  advertising  sign 
lights  and  flashes  out. 

"  Of  course  you  know,  painter- 
man."  he  began,  ■  that  I  am  in  touch 


THE  WHITE  GORILLA. 


711 


with  people  throughout  the  world 
whom  I  pay  to  keep  their  eyes  open 
for  the  albino  phase  in  animals  and 
birds.  The  mail  daily  brings  me  of- 
fers of  specimens  or  word  where  they 
may  be  procured;  but,  for  the  most 
part,  they  are  of  species  I  already  have 
07  else  out-and-out  fakes — I  have  been 
offered  scores  of  white  elephants. 
You  see.  among  savages,  the  abnormal 
in  nature  is  very  often  an  object  of 
direct  worship. 

Contrary  to  our  ideas  of  religion, 
the  untutored  savage  has  the  delicacy 
not  to  inflict  his  beliefs  on  strangers, 
and  does  not.  so  to  speak,  wear  his  god 
on  his  sleeve.  It  is,  therefore,  hard  to 
get  reliable  information  regarding  ani- 
mals that  are  white  when  they  normal- 
ly should  be  quite  a  different  color. 

"  It  was.  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
very  inderinitivencss  of  the  data  that 
sent  me  on  this  last  expedition.  From 
Libreville,  in  the  French  Congo,  an 
Englishman  wrote  me  it  was  common 
talk  among  the  Mpangwe,  who  had  re- 
cently been  driven  out  of  the  region 
at  the  headwaters  of  the  Gabun  River, 
that  their  conquerors  worshiped  and 
.sacrificed  to  a  white  woman  who 
walked  on  her  knees  and  elbows  and 
was  covered  with  long  hair.  A  Dutch 
trader  sent  word  from  Booue  that  the 
Fan  tribe  of  cannibals  had  an  old,  old 
man  for  chief  who  walked  on  all  fours 
and  was  fed  entirely  on  human  flesh. 
A  French  rubber  exploiter  in  the  Sierra 
de  Crystal  told  one  of  my  agents  that 
there  was  a  large,  white  monkey  tn  the 
Ogowe  division  of  the  Fan  cannibals 
whuh  was  held  sacred  and  accom- 
panied them  to  war. 

"  The  very  meagerness  of  this  in- 
formation and  the  improbability  of 
collusion  between  its  widely  separated 
sources  gave  me  something  on  which 
t<»  theorize,  and  I  sailed  for  Libreville. 
The  building  of  my  theory  was  sim- 
plicity itself,  The  "third  informant  had 
distinctly  stated  that  the  creature  was 
a  white  monkey.  Monkeys  are  regard- 
ed by  many  tribes  in  Africa  as  only 
slightly  modified  human  beings. 


'  The  final  link  in  my  reasoning 
came  from  the  statement  that  it  walked 
on  its  elbows  and  knees.  The  gorilla 
walks,  or  rather  swings  itself  along, 
on  the  back  of  its  hands — the  wrist, 
we  would  call  it — and  often  turns  the 
toes  of  its  feet  under.  in  short.  I 
hoped  for  an  albino  gorilla,  and  my 
theory  was  strengthened  by  the  knowl- 
edge that  gorillas,  when  caught  young, 
are  docile  and  easily  tamed,  in  spite  of 
the  unquestioned  ferocity  of  the  wild, 
old  males.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  we 
know  little  more  about  this  largest  of 
all  primates  than  has  been  vouched  us 
from  the  fertile  imagination  of  Paul 
de  Chaillu. 

"  There  are  current,  in  Africa,  tales 
of  men  snatched  from  the  ground  to 
die  a  horrible  death  in  the  tree-tops; 
of  an  African  tribe  that  kept  a  huge, 
old  male  for  executioner  until  it  was 
killed  by  an  Englishman  about  to  be 
sacrificed,  who  noticed  a  swelling  over 
its  heart  and  struck  it  in  this  vulnerable 
spot.  At  any  rate.  I  had  never  seen  a 
gorilla  in  the  wild  state,  and  the  ad- 
venture promised  many  thrills. 

"  From  Libreville  I  made  a  short  ex- 
pedition among  the  Mpangwe  whom 
the  more  warlike  Fans  had  driven  from 
the  interior.  Savages,  I  have  found, 
Mr,  Painter-man,  belong  to  two  cate- 
gories: Those  that  are  honest,  trust- 
worthy, and  truthful,  and  those  that 
are  the  exact  opposite. 

"  The  Mpangwe  belong  to  the  latter 
class.  They  were  the  worst  liars  I 
have  ever  met.  and  told  me  only  what 
they  thought  I  wanted  to  hear.  The 
hairy  woman  was  endowed  with  wings 
and  'made  to  lay  eggs  that  hatched  into 
serpents,  arid  when  they  found  it  was 
a  monkey  I  was  after,  they  agreed  to 
a  man  ihat  she  always  assumed  that 
form  at  night. 

"  There  was  nothing  to  be  learned 
from  these  swindling  blacks,  and  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  follow  rumor  to 
its  source  and  go  up  the  Gabun  River 
into  the  gorilla  country  where  dwelt  the 
Ogowe  Fans.  The  local  French  gov- 
ernment, not  without  a  warning  against 


712 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


its  unsettled  state  and  the  absolute  lack 
of  positive  knowledge  of  the  region  into 
which  I  projiosed  to  penetrate,  finally 
gave  me  a  permit  for  a  scientific  ex- 
ploring expedition. 

"  They  even  went  further  and  pro- 
vided me  with  a  guard  of  twenty  sol- 
(ljen;  —  S(l.  vou  see.  I  traveled  rather 
en  prince  — '-and  helped  to  collect  the 
rather  large  caravan  which  I  required 
"A  trip  of  this  nature  to  one  who  has 
been  through  the  same  kind  of  thing 
before,  contrary  to  the  general  idea  of 
you  city  dwellers,  is  remarkable  only 
for  the  length  of  time  it  takes  to  reach 
a  given  point.  There  was,  of  course, 
the  usual  revolt  of  the  porters  for 
higher  pay,  which  had  to  be  summarily 
quelled;  the  leopard  that  blundered  into 
my  tent-ropes  one  night,  and  the  kill- 
ing of  a  man  by  a  wounded  buffalo; 
also  an  ill-advised  attempt  to  assassi- 
nate me.  These  are  only  the  incidents 
one  expects  in  jungle  travel,  how- 
ever; and,  on  the  whole,  it  was  rather 
a  dull  journey,  and  a  very  hot  one. 

"  As  we  neared  our  destination  the 
country  became  rugged  with  open  but 
shady  and  damp  forests,  and  there 
were  interminable  thickets  of  scita- 
mines  and  tree-ferns,  on  the  fruits  of 
which  the  gorilla  feeds.  All  along  the 
route  I  made  guarded  inquiries  about 
my  quest,  and.  from  what  I  could  not 
learn,  fully  made  up  my  mind  that  a 
white  gorilla,  or  at  least  some  extraor- 
dinary animal,  its  existence  well  known 
to  the  natives,  was  in  possession  of  the 
Fans.  I  came  to  this  conclusion  be- 
cause every  approach  to  the  subject,  no 
matter  how  indirect,  instantly  inspired 
fear,  and  those  interrogated  either  be- 
came dumb  or  lied  wildly. 

"  One  day's  journey  from  our  des- 
tination I  sent  ahead  runners  with 
gifts  to  the  sorcer  (so  is  designated 
the  local  priest  l  and  to  the  chief.  Of 
course  word  of  my  coming  had  long 
ago  preceded  me.  and,  partially 
through  curiosity,  partially  through 
respect  for  my  guard  and  my  large 
caravan,  they  sent  back  friendly  mes- 
sages. 


"  The  next  evening,  to  the  monoto- 
nous beat  of  tom-toms,  I  pitched  camp 
on  the  edge  of  the  valley  in  which 
dwelt  the  Ogowe  Fans.  These  sav- 
ages were  quite  different  from  any  I 
had  met  in  Africa.  They  were  not 
black,  but  coffee-colored,  well  made, 
with  thin  lips,  intelligent  faces,  and 
were  tall  and,  according  to  our  stand- 
ards, excessively  slim. 

"  Best  of  all,  their  language  was  a 
slight  variation  of  the  great  Bantu 
tongue,  as  spoken  by  the  Zulu  Kafirs, 
and  with  which  I  am  thoroughly  fa- 
miliar. The  women,  who  were  quite 
handsome,  worked  in  the  manioc- 
fields,  while  the  existence  of  the  men 
was  made  up  of  war  and  hunting.  To 
a  high  degree  they  were  both  truthful 
and  honorable. 

"  Savages  love  ceremony,  and  our 
mutual  greetings  took  up  all  of  three 
days,  on  the  last  of  which  there  was 
a  feast  with  wild  dances  and  much 
palm-wine.  I  was  not  at  all  sure  of 
the  bill  of  fare,  and,  in  order  to  be  on 
the  safe  side,  pretexed  a  vow  of  fast- 
ing, an  expiatory  rite  which  they 
practise,  and  so  understood.  My 
role  was  that  of  a  sorcer  who  had 
come  to  study  their  birds  and  beasts, 
but  most  to  consort  with  my  brother 
priests  to  our  mutual  advantage,  and 
I  was  accepted  at  my  own  valuation. 

"A  liberal  gift  insured  me  the  privi- 
lege of  dwelling  in  their  country  as 
long  as  I  pleased,  and  so  well  did  I 
get  on  with  my  hosts  that  finally,  with 
the  chief,  I  went  through  that  not  un- 
poetic  ceremony  of  mysterious  origin 
which  they  call  blood  -  brotherhood. 
This  practical  adoption  into  the  tribe 
so  reassured  me  as  to  my  safety  that 
I  sent  back  my  guard  of  soldiers, 
much  to  their  horror,  and  in  spite  of 
their  protestations,  and  with  them  the 
greater  part  of  my  porters,  retaining 
only  a  few  in  whom  I  had  implicit 
confidence. 

"  I've  lived  with  savages  before, 
Mr.  Painter  -  man,  and  I  must  say 
there  is  no  pleasanter  or  easier  life. 
.To  a  very  great  extent  every  man  does 


THE  WHITE  GORILLA. 


713 


exactly  as  he  pleases.  Food  is  the  only 
real  necessity,  and  is  largely  furnished 
by  the  labor  of  the  women. 

"  Moral  and  ethical  considerations 
are  never  personal,  but  the  affair  of 
the  high  priest  (better  called  sorcer), 
and  are  left  entirely  in  his  hands. 

"  In  spite  of  ideal  conditions  for 
happiness,  it  was  distinctly  wanting 
among  the.  Ogowe  Fans.  There  was 
an  undercurrent  of  dissatisfaction 
running  through  the  tribe,  and  an 
atmosphere  of  mental  discomfort. 
Quarrels  were  frequent,  and  there 
were  several  cases  of  absolute  insan- 
ity, the  victims  of  which  were  prompt- 
ly put  to  death,  tribal  law  permitting 
of  no  mental  or  physical  deficient. 

"  In  my  assumed  character  it  was 
naturally  the  sorcer  that  I  saw  the 
most  of,  and  we  found  much  in  com- 
mon. As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  priest 
among  savages  represents  not  only 
the  highest  mental,  but  what  we  must 
characterize  for  want  of  a  better  defi- 
nition, as  scientific  attainments  of  the 
race.  My  confrere  of  the  Ogowe 
Fans  was  a  shrewd,  middle-aged  man, 
leaning  toward  asceticism,  and  a  real 
fanatic  in  his  beliefs. 

"  He  had  one  daughter,  and  if  you 
can  imagine  such  a  thing  as  a  soft, 
brown  rose  glowing  in  the  tropical 
jungle  you  will  have  a  fairly  accurate 
picture  of  her.  The  Fan  faith  was  a 
kind  of  Pan-deism  with  just  a  dash 
of  sun  worship,  interwoven  with  su- 
perstition, its  manifestation  interpre- 
ted by  the  sorcer  from  the  actions  of 
various  sacred  animals.  There  was 
also  an  additional  and  very  unusual 
way  of  learning  the  wishes  of  their 
deity. 

"  The  priest  was  master  of  a  crude 
but  none  the  less  effective  form  of 
hypnotism,  which  he  practised  on 
members  of  the  tribe,  but  principally 
OH  his  daughter.  Through  her,  while 
she  was  '  possessed  of  the  spirit,' 
otherwise  in  a  cataleptic  state,  he  un- 
consciously impressed  his  own  will  on 
the  tribe. 

"  I  give  him  absolute  credit  for  at- 


tributing divine  origin  to  the  words 
that  she  uttered,  which  made  him  only 
the  more  determined  in  his  purposes, 
in  the  same  way  that  a  man  with  an 
honest  belief  is  much  more  likely  to 
be  successful  than  one  who  must  ad- 
mit in  his  own  heart  that  he  is  a  faker. 

n  The  girl  was  so  completely  under 
his  mental  control  that  a  few  mo- 
ments' gazing  into  a  large  crystal, 
which  had  been  roughly  rounded  and 
held  a  thousand  lights,  made  her  mind 
blank  and  instantly  receptive  of  to  any 
impression  from  him.  This  crystal 
was  a  very  sacred  thing,  and  it  was 
the  duty  of  a  different  warrior  each 
day  to  rub  at  the  inequalities  with  fine 
sand  with  the  purpose  of  finally  bring- 
ing it  to  a  perfect  roundness. 

"  The  sorcer  was  enough  of  a  man 
of  the  world  to  appreciate  the  awe  he 
might  inspire  by  means  of  a  few 
chemicals  I  gave  him  and  the — to  sav- 
ages —  startling  tricks  I  was  able  to 
teach  him.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he 
ruled  these  frankly  cannibal  warriors 
through  fear  alone ;  and  so  great  was 
his  mental  dominance  that,  at  times,  it 
seemed  to  me,  he  held  half  the  tribe 
in  a  semihypnotic  state.  There  was  a 
bitter  feud  between  him  and  the  tem- 
poral chief. 

"  The  latter  wished  to  move  on  to 
new  conquests ;  the  priest  held  firm 
that  they  remain  where  they  were  for 
a  year  until  expiation  had  been  made 
t)y  endless  religious  ceremonies  for  the 
1  blinding  of  the  eyes  of  piety,'  a 
phrase  which  meant  nothing  to  me 
then,  but  which  I  now  understand. 

"I  was,  of  course,  more  or  less  af- 
filiated with  the  chief  since,  with  him. 
I  had  gone  through  the  blood-broth- 
erhood rite,  but  my  closest  friend  was 
his  son.  He  was  a  youth  of  some 
twenty  summers,  and  the  most  mar- 
velous hunter  and  tracker  I  have  ever 
known.  Ikstu  —  that  is  as  near  as  I 
can  Anglicize  his  name— accompanied 
me  on  all  my  collecting  expeditions, 
and,  what  was  of  the  greatest  impor- 
tance, since  I  was  supposed  to  know 
them  instinctively,  told  me  the  birds 


i 


714 


ALL- STORY  .WEEKLY. 


and  animals  that  were  sacred  and  not 
to  be  molested. 

"  Chief  among-  those  tabu  were  the 
gorillas,  and  they  throve  and  were 
quite  unafraid  under  such  treatment, 
though  naturally  rather  retiring  beasts. 
In  the  maui"C-liclds.  winch  the  women 
cultivated,  toward  evening  I  have  lit- 
erally seen  dozens  of  them.  The  males 
would  wander  out  from  the  jungle 
with  their  two  or  three  mates  and 
family,  or  sometimes  1  would  come 
Up  n  a  .solitary  old  bachelor,  grayish- 
white,  and  a  very  dangerous  animal 
to  approach. 

•  Some  would  run  away,  screaming 
with  fright,  in  a  tryingly  human  man- 
ner; but  there  was  one  old  fellow  who 
never  gave  a  step  until  1  myself  re- 
tired. 

M  He  was  fully  six  feet  tall  when 
standing  braced  against  a  tree-trunk, 
his  hands  hanging  below  his  knees, 
the  hair  on  his  neck  and  head  erect 
with  rage,  and  the  ruff  under  his  chin 
quivering.  Two  great  canine  teeth 
protruded  from  each  side  of  his  snarl- 
ing mouth,  and  beneath  their  enor- 
mous protuberances  his  little  eyes 
blazed  red  in  his  coal-black  face.  I 
learned  to  hate  that  animal,  and.  as  he 
hopped  away  on  all  fours,  his  legs 
swinging  out  beyond  his  arms,  I 
longed  to  turn  and  put  an  explosive 
bullet  in  him. 

"  Policy,  that  was  even  a  question 
of  personal  safety,  held  me  in  check, 
however,  and  I  wisely  refrained. 
Ikstu.  who  feared  nothing  else  in  the 
world,  was  deadly  afraid  of  these  old 
males;  but,  even  more  than  he  feared 
them,  he  hated  the  sorcer. 

"  As  we  became  better  acquainted 
and  I  gained  his  confidence,  the  reason 
for  this  was  apparent.  I  noticed  that 
on  several  occasions  we  found  two 
purple  orchids,  their  steins  crossed, 
lying  in  the  narrow  trails  through  the 
scitamines  thickets,  and  each  time  this 
sign  appeared  1  lost  my  companion 
for  the  rest  of  the  day.  The  connec- 
tion was  obvious. 

"The  daughter  of  the  sorcer-priest 


always  wore  these  orchids  in  her  hair 
and  as  a  garland — in  fact,  they  formed 
by  far  the  greater  part  of  her  ward- 
robe. 

"  Always,  however,  she  was  back 
from  these  love  rambles  at  her  father's 
hut  before  sunset;  and,  after  he  had 
made  her  gaze  for  a  few  moments  into 
the  sacred  crystal,  she  would  hurry  off 
into  the  jungle  with  a  basket  of  ma- 
nioc and  fruit  of  the  scitamines  on  her 
arm.  You  may  well  believe  1  was 
curious  in  regard  to  these  expeditions, 
but  I  kept  this  curiosity  to  myself. 
Once  I  tried  to  pick'  up  her  trail  in  the 
ni< -rning.  and  was  very  nearly  empaled 
in  a  leopard-trap.  That  afternoon  1 
received  a  warning  from  the  sorcer  of 
the  presence  of  a  very  sacred  and  aw- 
ful spirit  in  the  direction  I  had  gone. 

"  My  excuse  for  lingering  in  the 
neighborhood  was  wearing  thin,  and 
the  priest  was  beginning  to  look  on 
me  with  unconcealed  suspicion.  Mean- 
while, there  was  no  hint  of  what  I 
sought,  and  the  whole  tribe  was  hum- 
ming with  an  undercurrent  of  politics 
that  would  have  done  credit  to  Tam- 
many Hall  during  election. 

"  My  time  had  not  been  entirely 
wasted,  however,  for  I  had  the  skin 
of  an  albino  thrush  (it  proved  new  to 
science),  and  also  a  large,  white  spi- 
der of  the  trap-door  variety,  the  first 
absolute  case  of  albinoism  I  had  ever 
found  among  the  Arachnida.  My  camp 
was  ready  to  be  abandoned  and  my 
porters  to  travel,  and  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  start  for  the  coast  the  mo- 
ment 1  had  solved  the  problem  of  the 
girl's  nightly  trip. 

"  The  crisis  came  sooner  than  I  ex- 
pected. In  spite  of  the  objections  of 
the  spiritual  power,  the  chief  made  a 
raid  toward  the  sea  and  returned  with 
heavy  spoil  and  ten  captives.  There 
was  much  rejoicing  in  the  tribe, 
though  the  sorcer  was  very  angry,  and 
the  captives  were  closely  guarded  and 
well  fed,  so  that  their  ultimate,  grue- 
some disposal  was  only  too  obvious. 
The  war  party  gained  in  strength,  and 
it  was  decided  the  matter  of  moving 


THE  WHITE  GORILLA. 


715 


on  to  new  conquests  be  finally  decided 
at  the  Feast  of  the  Gorillas,  when  the 
moon  was  full. 

"  My  position  was  now  not  only 
very  uncomfortable,  but  positively 
dangerous,  and  I  kept  exclusively  to 
my  own  camp,  my  only  connection 
with  the  Fan  village  being  through 
Ikstu.  Time  hanging  heavy  on  my 
hands,  I  hit  on  an  expedient  that  I 
should  have  thought  of  long  before. 

"  Through  a  pair  of  powerful  field- 
glasses  I  spied  the  girl's  route  each 
evening  until  I  finally  traced  her 
down  to  her  destination,  a  rocky  am- 
phitheater hardly  a  mile  distant  from 
the  village. 

"  That  night  darkness  came  so 
quickly  I  could  not  see  what  she  did, 
but  the  next  evening  the  secret  of  her 
expeditions  and,  at  the  same  time,  the 
end  of  my  quest  were  revealed  to  me. 
From  the  crotch  of  a  great  rubber  tree 
I  watched  her  set  down  her  basket  and, 
swaying  slightly  as  people  do  in  the 
cataleptic  state,  raise  her  arms  above 
her  orchid-crowned  head  evidently 
calling. 

H  Twice  she  did  this,  and  then,  from 
a  cleft  in  the  rocks,  an  unbelievable  ob- 
ject swung  slowly  out  to  meet  her. 

"  Never  have  I  seen  so  beautiful 
and  so  repulsive  an  animal.  It  was  an 
enormous  female  gorilla  with  fur  long 
and  white  as  that  of  an  Angora  goat. 
Even  in  a  crouched  position,  practi- 
cally on  all  fours,  its  jet-black  face 
was  above  the  girl  on  whom  it  looked 
down  from  eyes  that  seemed,  through 
my  field-glasses,  milk  white. 

"  One  mighty  arm  rose  and  rested 
on  the  girl,  the  other  groping  in  the 
basket  at  her  feet,  and  thus  the  two 
figures  stood .  while  the  fruits  were 
crammed  into  an  enormous  mouth. 
Then  the  girl  lifted,  with  both  hands, 
the  great  paw  from  her  bare  shoulder, 
and  before  the  quick  tropical  darkness 
shut  them  from  my  sight.  I  saw  her 
catch  the  wreath  of  purple  orchids 
from  her  own  neck  and  throw  it  over 
the  brute's  head. 

"  At  camp,  with  his  chest  bleeding 


from  a  knife  wound.  I  found  Ikstu 
waiting  for  me.  Without  giving  him 
time  to  explain  his  own  errand  I  told 
quickly  what  I  had  seen.  He  was  in 
no  way  astonished,  and  I  doubt  even 
if  he  heard  half  1  said,  so  full  was  he 
of  his  own  troubles. 

"  The  sorcer  had  somehow  learned 
of  the  meetings  with  his  daughter  and 
was  keeping  her  in  a  continual  hyp- 
notic state,  so  that,  quite  unconscious 
of  what  she  was  doing  or  saying,  she 
had  actually  stabbed  him  at  their  last 
rendezvous  and  even  threatened  him 
with  '  the  blind  eyes  of  piety.' 

"His  simple  request  was  that  I 
should  take  him  and  the  girl  away  with 
me  after  he  had  killed  the  sorcer  dur- 
ing the  coming  feast.  I  consented 
without  the  slightest  hesitation,  bar- 
gaining only  that  he  should  tell  me,  in 
return,  all  he  knew  of  the  white  go- 
rilla. 

"  Gra/iually,  though  it  was  apparent 
he  feared  a  celestial  thunderbolt,  I 
dragged  the  story  from  him.  The 
beast,  under  the  care  of  the  sorcer.  had 
been  the  fetish  of  the  tribe  ever  since 
he  could  remember,  and  figured  in 
every  religious  ceremony.  At  the  be- 
ginning of  the  Fans'  march  toward 
the  coast  the  gorilla  had  always  gone 
into  battle  with  them  and,  maddened 
by  a  great  beaker  of  the  potent  palm 
wine,  proved  a  terror  to  their  enemies 
Then,  to  the  lasting  grief  of  the  sor- 
cer, during  a  night  attack,  it  had  lost 
the  sight  of  both  eyes  from  a  fire- 
brand. 

"  Formerly  it  had  been  a  docile  and 
friendly  animal  (when  not  inflamed 
by  the  palm  liquor),  with  the  unre- 
strained freedom  of  the  village:  but 
this  accident  changed  it  into  a  she- 
devil  that  dwelt  morosely  alone  and 
could  only  be  approached  by  the  sor- 
cer's  daughter,  and  that  only  when 
under  her  father's  hypnotic  influence. 

"  Tt's  a  wild  tale,  painter-man.  and 
silling  here  before  the  fire  one  can 
hardly  believe  it  actually  happened.  In 
the  jungle,  though,  with  the  blackness 
of  the  tropical  night  wrapped  around 


716  ALL-STOR* 

us  like  velvet  ribbons,  the  squeak  of 
the  vampire  bat*,  the  far-away  roar  of 
a  male  gorilla,  and  the  cuugh  of  a 
leopard  circling  the  camp,  it  seemed 
perfectly  natural  and  lilting  for  me  to 
be  conniving,  with  a  cannibal,  at  a 
cold-blooded  murder. 

••  Besides.  I  wanted  the  skin  of  that 
albino  primate,  and  i  was  going  to 
have  it  at  any  cost.  I  believed  every 
word  of  Ikstu's  story,  even  to  divine 
attributes  with  which  he  credited  the 
brute  and  of  which  I  have  not  told  you 
— you  see.  I  had  seen  it,  and  alive." 

\  an  Dam  snapped  on  the  electric 
lights  and  turned  in  his  chair  to  face 
the  glass  cabinet  which  contained  his 
latest  acquisition.  My  eyes  followed 
his  and  I  shuddered  to  the  very  depths 
of  my  city-swaddled  soul.  The  great 
monkey  had  been  mounted  bending 
slightly  forward,  its  hands  swinging 
between  and  far  below  its  knees.  In 
its  immense  paws  it  held  a  pear- 
shaped  crystal  larger  than  an  ostrich's 
egg,  which  caught  and  imprisoned  the 
light.  # 

Beautiful,  long,  silky  fur,  white  as 
silver,  clothed  the  enormously  power- 
ful body,  and  beneath  the  low  fore- 
head, deep  in  the  black  face,  were  set, 
in  lieu  of  eyes,  two  round  milky- white 
agates.  The  mouth  was  curled  back 
in  a  fixed  grin  revealing  the  broken, 
yellow,  doglike  fangs,  repulsive  be- 
yond belief  by  contrast  with  the  beauty 
and  power  of  the  rest  of  the  animal. 

"Go  on.  Van,"  I  said,  "you 
couldn't  make  me  disbelieve  anything 
about  that  thing.  For  Heaven's  sake, 
out  with  the  lights,  though.  I  don't 
want  to  look  at  it." 

The  blood  showed  at  the  top  of  the 
scar  on  Van  Dam's  cheek,  slithered 
.down  its  ragged  length,  and  winked 
OUt  leaving  it  livid  white.  He  switched 
"ff  the  electric  current  and  we  were 
left  again  with  only  the  light  of  the 
fire. 

T  gave  Tkstu  no  advice  as  to  his 
killing,"  Van  Dam  continued.  "  be- 
cause I  felt  that  he  was  quite  com- 
petent to  carry  out  his  private  ven- 


WEEKLY.  ?  I 

detta  in  his  own  way.  However, 
since  the  next  evening  was  to  see  the 
beginning  of  the  Feast  of  the  Gorillas, 
1  moved  my  camp  a  mile  toward  the 
coast  and  prepared  everything  for 
immediate  flight.  In  the  afternoon  I 
made  Ikstu  guide  me  by  a  round- 
about route,  to  the  very  edge  of  the 
rocky  amphitheater  above  the  beast's 
den.  and  ensconced  myself,  within 
easy  hearing  and  seeing  distance,  in 
the  thick  top  of  a  scitamines  bush. 

"  Hardly  was  J  comfortably  settled 
when  the  sorcer  and  his  daughter, 
both  heavily  laden  with  baskets,  ap- 
peared beneath  me. 

"  I  don't  think  I  have  ever  seen 
anything  more  beautiful  than  that 
girl.  Of  actual  clothes  she  wore  only 
a  white  loin-cloth,  but  her  hair  was 
braided  full  of  the  purple  orchids  and 
garland  on  garland  of  the  same 
flower  hung  from  her  neck  and  cov- 
ered her  lithe,  brown  body. 

"  The  sorcer  was  hideously  painted 
in  crimson  and  white  and  his  face 
was  made  up  to  simulate  a  gorilla,  the 
hair  drawn  far  back  and  two  extra, 
white  eyes  daubed  on  the  forehead. 

"  Immediately  the  girl,  sitting  with 
crossed  legs,  began  to  beat  a  tiny  tom- 
tom, while  the  sorcer  built  a  small 
fire  and  busied  himself  with  the 
baskets  and  three  other  articles.  I 
recognized  them  as  a  leopard  skin 
worn  by  one  of  the  under  chiefs,  a 
mat  from  a  hut,  and  Ikstu's  favorite 
spear. 

"  When  the  fire  was  going  well  the 
girl  stood  up  and  called.  The  third 
time  her  voice  rose  the  white  gorilla 
emerged  slowly  from  its  den  and  hesi- 
tatingly hopped  and  swung  down  to 
her.  Then,  before  my  eyes,  took 
place  the  most  remarkable  perform- 
ance T  have  witnessed. 

"  The  man  cast  some  herb  into  the 
fire  and  the  girl  led  the  animal  into 
the  thick,  scented  smoke.  Time  and 
again  it  broke  f  rom  her  and  rushed  to 
its  rocky  refuge,  time  and  again  it 
came  back  to  her  call.  Herb  after 
herb,  each  with  a  different  odor,  went 


THE  WHITE  GORILLA. 


717 


into  the  flames,  and  gradually  the 
movements  of  the  great  beast  became 
slower,  lethargic,  till  it  finally  stood 
swaying,  its  blind  agate  eyes  turned 
to  the  sorcer. 

"  Once  the  girl  faltered  and  seemed 
to  be  awakening  from  a  trance,  but 
her  father  held  the  crystal  to  her  eyes 
till  they  went  blank  and  she  again 
mechanically  did  his  bidding.  Now 
he  transferred  the  sacred  stone  to  the 
gorilla's  paws  and  began  a  chant. 
The  words  were  not  of  the  Bantu 
tongue  but  from  some  language  older 
than  the  hills.  I  don't  know  what 
they  mean,  but  I  remember  the  sound, 
mixed  with  the  beat  of  the  tom-tom, 
as  well  as  though  I  were  now  hear- 
ing it. 

"Nala   (bong)   Nala  (bong) 
Nala  impi  (bong,  bong,  bong.) 
Nala  (bong)  Nala  (bong) 
Nala  impi  (bong,  bong,  bong.) 
Nala   (bong)    Nala  (bong) 
Nala  impi  (bong,  bong,  bong.) 

Intoned  to  the  sullen  beat  of  the 
drum  till  the  world  seemed  to  go  to 
sleep  and  the  brain  reach  forward  for 
the  next  repetition. 

"  The  great  brute  began  to  move 
slowly  in  a  swaying  dance  keeping 
time  with  the  rhythm.  One  by  one 
the  girl  held  the  leopard  skin,  mat 
and  spear  against  its  flat  nostrils 
while,  for  each  separate  article,  the 
sorcer  pressed  a  hot  coal  to  the  slowly 
shuffling  feet.  At  every  bum  the 
beast  reared  and  raising  the  glittering 
crystal,  to  which  its  paws  seemed 
glued,  dashed  it  down  on  the  object 
before  it. 

Extraordinary  as  was  the  idea,  I 
recognized  at  once  that,  for  the  usual 
passes  and  crystal  gazing  used  in  hyp- 
notism, the  sorcer  had  first  substitu- 
ted the .  scent  of  herbs  and  then  the 
chant,  and  actually  held  the  frightful 
beast  in  control  by  that  thin  thread  of 
sound. 

"  Still  beating  her  tom-tom  with 
measured  strokes  the  voice  of  the  girl 
took  »ip  the    mysterious    words,  and 


the  sorcer  grew  silent  crouched  over 
the  fire.  Night  was  coming  fast.  I 
slipped  from  my  hiding  place  as  the 
forest  shadows  blackened  the  cliff  and 
silently  slid  down  to  the  very  cleft 
whence  had  come  the  gorilla.  There  I 
lay  in  the  darkness  peering  ai  the 
three  figures  before  the  fire. 

'"  First  one  tom-tom,  another,  a 
third,  till  their  number  seemed  count- 
less, awoke  in  the  village.  There  was 
a  high,  shrill  scream  of  agony  from 
far  away,  then  the  voice  of  the  whole 
tribe  raised  in  a  great  chorus,  the 
words  growing  distinguishable  as 
they  grew  nearer. 

"  In  English  thev  would  go  like 
this: 

"  The  sun.  oh.  the  sun,  from  the  rising 
of  the  sun, 
VVc  go  through  jungle  aisles  until 
the  moon  is  high. 
There's   blood   within    our  footsteps, 
and  every  warrior  one, 
Lifts  up  a  limp,  dead  body  unto  the 
bleeding  sky. 

"  Always  before  goes  the  white  one. 

(Piety,  Piety  thou!) 
Leads  us  in  the  path  of  the  sun. 

(Piety,  Piety  thou!) 
Judge  at  "  the   feast  when   the  red 

blood  runs  free. 
Leading  the  Fans  to  hot.  cruel  vic- 
tory. 

We  come  for  thy  judgment,  again 
come  to  thee. 
(Piety,  Piety  thou!) 

"  Meanwhile,  under  the  roar  of 
voices  the  girl  sang  her  monotonous 
strain  and  beat  her  tiny  drum. 

"  The  whole  tribe  defiled  into  the 
amphitheater,  chiefs  first  with  the 
leopard  skins,  which  they  alone  are 
privileged  to  wear — a  custom  that 
links  them  with  the  Zulus— then  the 
warriors  with  the  prisoners  in  their 
midst,  now  significantly  reduced  to 
nine,  and  last  the  women  and  chil- 
dren. 

These  bore  fagots  which  they  piled 
in  the  center  and  a  large  lire  was  soon 
blazing".  The  ceremonies  began,  to 
the  music  of  the  inevitable  tom-toms, 
with  a  furious  dance  by  the  warriors. 


718 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


•'It  was  a  wild  scene,  the  nearly 
naked  savages  brandishing  their 
spears  and  whirling  ar.mnd  the  fire; 
the  prisoners  conscious  of  the  hor- 
rible fate  awaiting  them,  cowering  in 
the  background;  the  crouching 
figures  uf  the  great,  white  gorilla,  the 
hideously  painted  sorcer.  and  the  ex- 
quisite, brown  girl  intoning  her  end- 
less chant. 

"  As  a  proper  stage  setting  the 
heavens  began  to  grumble,  lightning 
Hashed  across  the  sky,  and  a  few.  big, 
hot  drops  of  rain  fell. 

"  The  dance  and  the  tom-toms 
ceased  with  such  startling  suddenness 
that  the  voice  of  the  girl  cut  sharp  as 
a  knife  through  the  murmur  of  the 
multitude.  The  priest  faced  the  great 
white  brute  and  spoke: 

"  '  Piety,  against  whom  the  Ogowe 
Fans  have  sinned,  before  we  ask  thy 
judgment  for  the  tribe,  select  from  us 
in  expiation.  Let  the  sacred  crystal 
gleam  red  in  thy  honor.' 

■*  He  raised  a  close-woven  basket 
full  of  palm  wine  to  its  nostrils,  and. 
while  it  still  held  the  crystal  pendant 
in  its  paws,  tipped  it  till  it  was 
drained  of  the  last  drop.  For  a  mo- 
ment the  white  gorilla  staggered,  then 
hopping  forward,  balanced  at  its  full 
height  before  the  chief.  While  the 
girl's  song  and  the  beat  of  the  tiny 
drum  alone  broke  the  silence  it  circled 
to  the  right,  bent  with  distended  nos- 
trils above  the  chief  whose  leopard 
skin  was  in  the  sorcer's  possession, 
and.  quicker  than  I  can  tell  it,  the 
great  paws  rose  and  the  crystal  came 
crashing  down  on  the  doomed  man's 
skulL  Resolved  to  end  the  scene  then 
and  there,  cost  what  it  might,  J  raised 
my  rifle  to  my  shoulder  and  then  low- 
ered it  again  at  what  I  saw. 

"  Sinuous  as  a  snake,  stealthy  as  a 
leopard,  Ikstu.  a  knife  in  his  hand, 
was  creeping  up  behind  the  sorcer. 
Warned  by  some  subtle  instinct  the 
priest  turned  barely  lie  fore  the  spring. 
One  hand  shot  out  the  finger  point- 
ing straight  at  the  boy  and  their  eyes 
locked  with  nearly  an  audible  snap. 


It  seemed  as  though  invisible  bonds 
held  the  would-be  murderer.  He 
struggled  in  vain  to  raise  the  knife, 
to  go  forward. 

"  The  pointed  finger  described  a 
slow  circle,  Ikstu's  head  followed  it. 
Faster  it  swung  and  faster.  With  a 
great  burst  of  strength  the  sorcer 
snatched  the  sacred  crystal  from  be- 
tween the  gorilla  paws  and  held  it 
to  the  boy's  face.  For  a  breath  Ikstu 
swayed  away  from  the  glittering 
lights,  then  his  head  went  forward, 
and.  eyes  glued  to  the  shining  thing, 
he  >ank  with  it  to  the  ground. 

*'  The  sorcer  silently  faced  the 
breathless  multitude,  then  deliberately 
picked  up  Jkstu's  own  spear  and 
turned  toward  him.  There  was  a 
great  crash  of  thunder  and  the  go- 
rilla, still  swaying  to  the  girl's  music, 
groped  blindly  forward.  The  priest 
raised  the  spear.  The  girl  broke  off 
in  the  middle  of  a  note  and,  quicker 
than  light,  covered  her  lover's  body 
with  her  own. 

"  Released  from  the  spell  of  the 
chant,  though  suddenly  animate,  the 
white  gorilla  tore  the  priest  into  his 
terrible  arms  and  bore  him  to  the 
ground.  A  blinding  flash  of  lightning 
split  the  heavens  as  I  fired.  Catch- 
ing the  outline  of  the  gorilla  I  pulled 
the  trigger  again,  and  sprang  down 
into  the  arena.  Every  savage  had 
fled  save  the  chief  who  stood,  spear 
poised,  between  the  lovers  and  the 
struggling  man  and  brute.  With  a 
back-hand  sweep  of  his  long  arm  the 
gorilla  ripped  open  my  cheek  at  the 
very  moment  i  sent  a  final  bullet 
through  its  forehead. 

M  The  sorcer  was  quite  dead,  prac- 
tically every  bone  in  his  body  broken 
by  the  awful  clutch  of  those  hairy 
arms.  The  white  gorilla  still  feebly 
moved  through  the  mushroom  bullet 
had  carried  away  practically  the  en- 
tire back  of  its  head.  The  girl,  the 
chief,  and  I  alone  were  alive  and 
sane  and  until  morning,  in  the  hot 
rain,  we  labored  to  strip  the  skin  from 
that  great  carcass. 


THE  WHITE  GORILLA. 


719 


"  Then,  the  girl  leading  Ikstu  by 
the  hand,  and  the  skin  swinging  be- 
tween us  on  a  pole,  we  struck  out  for 
my  camp.  The  chief,  in  silence, 
watched  his  son  depart,  and  did  not 
try  to  hinder  us. 

"  Perhaps  he  was  thinking  of  the 
fate  of  those  among  the  Fans  who 
were  found  mentally  wanting,  and,  in 
addition,  there  was  the  sacrilege  of 
the  attack  on  the  priest." 

Van  Dam  lay  back  in  his  chair  and 
carefully  lit  a  cigarette. 

"That  isn't  all?"  I  asked  after  a 
moment's  silence. 

"  That's  all,  he  answered. 

"  But  what's  the  end  of  it  ?  What 
became  of  the  girl  and  Ikstu?  " 


"  The  girl  died  on  the  way  out. 
Ikstu  lies  there  before  the  fire,  his 
mind  never  came  back  to  him.  I  have 
hopes,  however,  he  has  taken  to  wor- 
shiping the  beast  in  the  case  and  bow- 
ing down  to  the  crystal.  Interest  in 
anything  is  an  encouraging  sign." 

"  You  have  a  pleasant  way  of  en- 
tertaining your  guests."  I  said,  for 
want  of  something  better.  "  Canni- 
balism, murder,  madness,  everything 
but  starvation." 

"  We  had  about  come  to  that,  too." 
Van  answered  carelessly.  "  on  the 
way  back,  when  we  ran  into  a  great 
migration  of  spider  monkeys.  They 
make  very  good  eating,  we  just  had 
one  for  dinner." 


rj  rj  rr 

"MOON-MADNESS" 

BY    DOROTHY  FOSTER 

IF  a  girl  I  know 
Would  watch  the  moon. 
And  see  the  things  /  see, 
A  twinkle 
In  the  crinkle 

Of  his  smile  might  speak  for  me; 

And  the  shrewdly  winking. 

Blandly  blinking, 

Wise  old.  nice  old  moon 

Might  beam  her 

Words  a  dreamer 

Sang  to  an  old.  familiar  tune. 

But  if  she  knew 
The  things  /  do. 
I  think  perhaps  she'd  find 
A  token. 
Left  unspoken. 
In  the  sighing  of  the  wind. 
And  the  dear,  old,  flirting, 
"Disconcerting 
Moon  that  hangs  so  high, 
Might  lisp  her 
Name,  and  whisper 
Me  a  hint  of  by  and  by. 


\PAX  the  beautiful;  Japan.  Land  of  the  Rising  Sun,  land  of  quaint 
people,  queer  customs,  and  curious  treasures;  Japan,  shining  light 
of  the  Eastern  world,  is  the  scene  of 

HOUSE  OF  THE  HAWK 

BY  J.  U.  GIESY 


This  is  a  sequel  to  "The  Blue  Bomb/*  which  ran  in  The  Cavalier  from 
November  8  to  November  22,  1913.  In  that  story  Miss  Katharine  Deering, 
otherwise  White  Kate  of  Nagasaki;  actress,  avenging  murderess,  expatriate 
and  geisha-house  manager,  saved  the  life  of  Shieln  MeRae,  an  American  girl 
who  fell  into  the  clutches  of  Japanese  inimical  to  the  United  States. 

In  "  HOUSE  OF  THE'HAWK."  Kate,  fully  pardoned  by  the  American 
government,  and  about  to  sail  for  the  land  of  the  free,  had  just  finished  her 
bath  in  her  hotel  in  Yokohama  when  Howard  Sargent,  member  of  the  Amer- 
ican Secret  Service,  and  Arthur  Kenton,  an  attache  at  the  United  States 
Embassy  at  Tokyo,  were  announced.  They  told  Kate  that  Norma  Sargent, 
daughter  of  the  Secret  Service  man.  had  disappeared  while  teaching  school  in 
the  prefecture  of  Baron  Chiba  Isashiki.  Would  Miss  Deering  help  find  the 
girl? 

Now,  White  Kate  knew  something  about  the  malodorous  reputation  of 
this  baron,  and  it  did  not  take  her  long  to  decide  upon  a  course  of  action.  The 
girl  had  been  gone  three  days,  and  much  can  happen  in  that  space  of  time — in 

Japan! 

This  fine  story  will  begin  in  next  week's  issue  of  the  All-Story  Week- 
ly, and  will  run  through  four  numbers. 

days  later  he  received  the  latter's  check 
for  thirty-five  thousand  six  hundred  and 
forty-tight  dollars  and  forty  cents.  That 
gave  him  six  hundred  and  forty-eight  dol- 
lars and  fortv  cents  for  moving  expenses; 
about  six  times  what  he  needed. 
This  is  the  way 

A  ROUND  WITH  NEMESIS 

BY  RAYMOND  S.  SPEARS 

a  complete  novelette,  which  will  appear  in 
next  week's  All-Story  YVivF.ki.y,  begins: 
Scth   Parkney  had  scrimped  and  saved 


When  Scth  Parkney  reckoned  up  his 
accounts  for  the  last  time  and  he  once 
more  found  and  entered  down  the  sum  of 
$100,000,  he  nodded  his  head  with  satis- 
faction. -  .Vow  I  have  it,'"  he  said.  "  All 
I've  got  to  do  is  make  my  getaway."  There 
was  the  fifty  thousand  dollars  in  yellow- 
backs in  safe-deposit  boxes.  There  was  an 
air  of  permanent  respectability  in  his 
fifteen-thotisand-dollar  bank-account,  while 
good  negotiable  securities  made  up  the  rest 
of  the  estimated  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars  at  current  market  prices.  He  called 
up  the  local  stock-broker  and  told  him  to 
sell  the  stock  "  at  the  market,"  and  two 


HEART  TO  HEART  TALKS. 


721 


and  suffered  for  years  the  pangs  of  pov- 
erty and  the  feeling  of  doubt  a*  to  whether 
next  week  or  next  month  would  be  pro- 
vided for.  Now  he  had  provided  for  him- 
self and  had  made  certain  that  five  as  long 
as  he  would  he  would  never  want  for 
money  enough  to  live  on. 

But  even  the  best  laid  plans  of  mice  and 
men  "  gang  aft  agley,"  and  on  the  after- 
noon that  Parknc\  received  the  broker's 
check  a  widow  and  her  young  son  came 
into  his  office.  She  brought  with  her  three 
thousand  dollars  cash,  the  money  that  had 
come  to  her  because  her  husband  had  been 
killed  in  a  local  mill.  "  I  want  to  have  this 
money  invested  for  me,"'  she  told  the  law- 
yer. Certainly,  very  well."  Parkuey  an- 
swered, and  gave  her  a  receipt,  explaining 
that  the  papers  would  be  ready  for  her 
some  time  the  following  week.  He  hesi- 
tated for  a  moment  and  turned  to  gaze  at 
the  boy. 

He  was  a  flat-faced,  square-shouldered 
lad  with  deep-set  eyes  and  thin  lips.  In- 
stinctively Seth  Parkuey  disliked  the  lad. 
for  there  was  something  grim  in  the  coun- 
tenance. ':  You'll  know  me  the  next  time 
you  see  me.  I  expect/'  was  the  attorney's 
remark  to  the  staring  boy ;  and  he  did  not 
realize  at  the  time  that  he  was  making  a 
prophecy. 

This  is  only  the  second  long  story  by 
Raymond  S.  Spears  which  has  appeared  in 
the  pages  of  this  magazine,  but  he  has  writ- 
ten quite  a  number  of  short  ones  for  us. 
If  you  have  read  them  T  am  sure  vou  will 
look  forward  to  "  A  ROUND  WITH  NE- 
MESIS "  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasant  an- 
ticipation. 

j£  j>t  jfl 

"  CAPTAINS  OF  THE  RAINBOW." 
by  C.  Williams  Wood,  is  a  sea  story  with 
the  real  salt  tang.  When  the  captains 
three,  to  wit.  Captain  Henry  Waay,  Cap- 
tain William  Slubber,  and  Captain  John 
Swigglcs — all  of  whom  had  sailed  the 
seven  seas  "  when  a  Yankee  clipper  was  a 
prouder  ship  than  a  turbined  liner  is  to- 
day " — start  to  run  guns  and  other  con- 
traband into  Mexico,  they  are  sure  some 
little  filibusters. 

But  there  are  some  things  even  the  most 
seasoned  old  salt  cannot  be  expected  to  an- 
ticipate. Fog  is  one  of  them,  and  the  idi- 
osyncra>ie>  of  a  squarehead  skipper  of  a 
rusty  old  Swede  tramp  is  another,  and  the 
all-seeing,  impertinently  inquisitive  "  Eye  " 
is  the  third  and  worst. 

Even  go.  the  story  might  have  had  a  dif- 
ferent ending  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  per- 
versity of  inanimate  things  —  anchors,  to 
be  exact  —  which  maliciouslv  —  well,  did 
things  they  shouldn't.    Sounds  interesting. 


doesn't  it?  It  is;  and  it  carries  a  full  cargo 
of  hearty  laughs  as  well. 

**  e*  ,«* 

'*  WHAT  THE  PEOPLE  WANT,"  by 
Frank  Condon,  is  the  veracious  history  of 
a  man  who  was  certain  that  he  knew.  The 
gentleman  was  none  other  than  WVjber- 
force  Here-ward  Junius  Frv,  and  he  was  an 
Author— yes,  with  a  capital  A!  True,  he 
had  never  sold  anything,  but  that  was  the 
fault  of  the  editors.  One  in  all.  thev  were 
trying  every  mean  trick  they  knew  to  keep 
IT  ilber  force  et  cetera  et  cetera  Fry  from 
his  due  meed  of  fame.  But  he  found  a 
way  to  beat  the  game. 

&  ji 

"  THE  TEN-DOLLAR  GOLD  PIECE." 
by  Isabel  Ostrander,  contains  a  very  queer 
bit  of  psychology.  Grant  Ridgczcay  was 
one  of  the  supreme  powers  in  the  financial 
world  of  two  continents.  He  was  worth 
more  thousands  than  the  average  man  has 
cents,  and  never,  from  his  entrance  into 
the  financial  field,  had  he  neglected  to  at- 
tend a  directors'  meeting. 

That  was  the  one  rule  of  his  life— every- 
thing must  give  way  before  it.  Yet  the 
real,  secret,  compelling  reason  for  Grant 
Ridgezvay's  attendance  at  directors'  meet- 
ings was  simply  —  that  he  wanted  the 
bright  new  ten-dollar  gold  piece  that  would 
come  to  him  as  a  reward  for  his  punctu- 
ality ! 

Can  you  think  of  anything  stranger — or 
more  reasonable?  And  Grant  Ridgezcay's 
curious  obsession  led  to  some  cataclysmic 
changes  in  a  number  of  lives,  as  vou  will 
find." 

ji         j»  & 

"THE  MYSTERIOUS  FISHERMAN'." 
by  Edwin  Cole,  is  a  good  example  of  the 
ancient  saying:  "You  never  can  tell." 

Edith  Osborn  thought  he  was  a  colossus 
of  a  man  as  she  watched  him  with  his 
trousers  rolled  to  his  knees  and  the  sleeves 
of  his  flannel  shirt  to  his  elbows,  pulling  a 
boat  up  on  the  beach.  But  Mitchell,  who 
was  with  her.  sneered. 

"He  is  making  his  brawn  do  the  work 
of  his  brain."  was  his  comment. 

The  girl  said  nothing,  but  did  not  agree. 
Yet  she  could  not  have  known  how  soon 
and  under  what  circumstances  they  were 
to  meet  the  Fisherman  again. 

,«*  J*  ,* 

A  REGULAR  TO  THE  FRONT 

To  the  Editor  : 

It  is  with  great  pleasure  that  I  write  you 
these  few  lines  of  praise. 

I  am  what  vou  might  call  a  regular  in 


IO  A-S 


722 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


the  reading  of  your  magazine,  as  I  look 

forward  to  its  coming  each  week. 

I  have  only  been  reading  the  All-Story 
Cavalier  for  about  tour  months,  and  be- 
lieve me.  I'm  sorry  that  I  missed  so  much 

before. 

I  just  got  through  reading  "Into  the 
Fifth  Dimension";  finished  'Barriers 
Strong";  read  the  second  instalment  of 
"Doc":  and  started  "  Pellucidar."  In 
fact,  f  just  simply  ate  up  the  whole  book. 

If  it  is  possible  J  would  like  you  to  print 
more  of  Edgar  Kice  Burroughs'*  stories, 
as  he  is  certainly  great.  "  The  Mucker  " 
was  fine,  except  its  ending.  1  don't  think 
Billy  got  what  he  deserved.  But  just  keep 
up  the  good  work  and  I'm  your  faithful 
follower. 

W  ishing  you  all  the  success  in  the  pub- 
lishing world, 

Charles  H.  Smith. 

6^3  Oliver  Street, 
Toledo.  Ohio. 


MONEE  TALKS, 

To  the  Editor: 

Hurrah  for  the  All-Story!  You  cer- 
tainly have  a  fine  magazine.  It  can't  be 
beaten.    I  hope  you  can  keep  it  up  always. 

I  haven't  any  favorite  authors,  but  would 
like  to  hear  from  Burroughs  again.  Where 
is  he  keeping  himself?    Also  Tcrhune. 

Enclosed  find  $2.00,  for  which  please  ex- 
tend ray  subscription. 

W.  C.  Le  Mere. 

R.  D.  No.  1.  Box  21, 
Monec,  Illinois. 


FROM  BUCK  THORNTON'S  PAL 

To  the  Editor: 

I  have  been  a  constant  reader  of  The 
Cavalier  for  some  time.  Your  staff  of  au- 
thors is  O.  K.  in  every  respect.  Of  course 
I  like  some  of  your  stories  much  better 
than  others. 

N'ow,  for  instance.  Buck  Thornton  was 
all  right,  and  Jackson  Gregory,  at  some 
time  in  his  life,  must  have  lived  in  the 
West  I  have  known  several  men  in  my 
time  that  were  similar  to  Buck  Thornton. 
only  no  one  ever  discovered  them. 

And  George  Washington  Ogden  did  a 
good  job  when  he  wrote  "  The  Bondboy." 
However,  I  hardly  think  that  Joe  was  jus- 
tified in  committing  perjury  in  such  a  cause. 
Anyway,  it  was  a  mighty  interesting  story, 
and  another  one  along  the  same  line  would 
not  come  amiss. 

"  The  Fur  Bringers "  was  a  verv  good 
story  of  the  far  north,  and  Hulbcrt  Foot- 
ner  would  do  well  to  try  again.  Others 


probably  like  some  of  the  other  stories  bet- 
ter than  the  ones  that  I  have  mentioned, 
as  it  takes  all  kinds  to  please  the  public 
As  for  me,  I  would  like  to  have  Jackson 
Gregory  find  another  Buck  Thornton,  as 
there  are  many  out  in  this  part  of  the 
country- 

George  Lufkin. 

303  W.  Pac, 
Spokane,  Washington. 


YOU  LOSE,  AL! 

To  the  Editor  : 

I  have  been  a  reader  of  your  magazine 
for  some  years,  but  I  can't  sec  where  Fred 
lackson  gets  his  stuff.  It  is  all  right  for 
ten,  twenty,  and  thirty  melodrama,  but  in 
written  form  it  is  rotten. 

I  think  J.  U.  Giesy  and  J.  B.  Smith  arc 
two  of  the  best  writers  you  have.  I  also 
like  Octavus  Roy  Cohen's  stories. 

I  don't  believe  your  Heart  to  Heart 
Talks  arc  genuine,  and  bet  five  dollars  with 
a  Cavalier  reader  that  you  would  not  print 
this. 

Al  A.  W  illiams. 
165  East  Congress  Street, 
Detroit.  Michigan. 


HURRAH  AND  THREE  CHEERS 

To  the  Editor: 

Hurrah !  Three  cheers  for  the  All- 
Story  Weekly  !  Beyond  all  doubt  this  is 
the  best  magazine  on  the  market  to-day. 

I  have  read  The  Cavalier  since  the  ap- 
pearance of  '*  The  Changing  Lights."  To 
name  my  favorite  authors  would  be  best 
said  in  "  I  love  to  read  from  them  all." 
Of  course  all  stories  appearing  in  the  All- 
Story  Weekly  do  not  interest  me.  and 
when  I  find  one  that  does  not  I  simply  do 
not  fead  it  and~-do  not  complain,  for  I 
know  it  interests  manv  hundreds  of  other 
readers. 

By  all  means  do  not  give  up  our  Heart 
to  Heart  Talks,  for  I  just  love  this  part. 
1  read  it  the  first  thing  each  week.  I  only- 
wish  there  was  more  of  it. 

1  just  finished  "  The  Web  of  Destiny." 
Say,  it  was  great.  All  of  J.  U.  Giesy's  and 
J.  B.  Smith's  works  arc  great.  I  would 
love  to  meet  Setni  Dual  and  Gordon  Glace. 

I  see  Hulbert  Footner  will  appear  next 
week  with  "  The  Fur  Bringers."  I  am  glad 
to  hear  this.  But  whv  not  in  a  sequel  to 
"The  Scaled  Valley"?  I  am  reading  for 
the  first  time  from  Maurice  Drake  in 
"  Austin  Voogdt,  Sherlock  of  the  Sea," 
It's  a  crackin'  good  'en  'o.  "  The  Mucker  " 
ought  to  hawe  a  sequel.  u  Sand  "  was  cer- 
tainly full  of  pep. 


HEART  TO  HEART  TALKS. 


723 


Your  short  stories  arc  fine.  '"'  Winner 
Take  All  "  was  a  dandy*  I  certainly  did 
laugh  at  the  conclusion. 

Your  poems  deserve  praise.  I  read  them 
all.    Gladys  Hall  suits  me  best  in  this  line. 

I  wish  the  All-Story  Weekly  a  long 
life,  a  heart  full  of  congratulations  to  the 
editor  for  his  good  taste  in  choosing  sto- 
ries for  publication,  sympathies  for  his 
many  cares  and  troubles,  and  a  '*  hello '' 
for  every  All- Story  reader. 

Lloyd  Franklin. 

Seelyville,  Indiana. 


THE  PLEASURE'S  ALL  MINE 

To  the  Editor: 

I  wish.  Mr.  Editor,  I  could  shake  hands 
with  you  and  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  to 
know  you,  because  it's  grand  to  know  a 
man  like  you  who  cannot  only  pick  au- 
thors, but  such  dandy  stories,  too. 

Signed  by  one  who  knows. 

Mrs.  Ma  me  Wolf. 


M  LONE  STAR  RANGER  "  LEADS 

To  the  Editor: 

I  have  noticed  in  the  Heart  to  Heart 
Talks  that  many  readers  write  you  their 
opinion  with  regard  to  this  magazine,  and 
so  trust  that  my  letter  will  not  be  consid- 
ered an  intrusion. 

About  the  first  All-Story  I  purchased 
■was  the  November,  1900,  number.  Since 
then  I  have  been  a  constant  reader,  nearly 
bix  \ears. 

It  would  be  wrong  for  me  to  say  that 
every  story  suits  me.  although  a  very  large 
majority  have  my  vote. 

The  stories  of  adventure  and  mystery 
are  good,  and  as  T  think  back,  for  Wrestern 
fiction.  "  The  Lone  Star  Ranger  "  and  "  To 
the  Victor"  come  to  my  mind  as  about  the 
best  yet,  while  "  Doc."  which  ends  in  this 
week's  number,  is  not  to  be  placed  behind 
but  alongside  the  two  first  named.  How- 
ever, if  a  leader  must  he  picked,  let  it  be 
"  The  Lone  Star  Ranger." 

Hoping  the  good  work  may  continue, 
John  O.  Ricgs. 

Somervillc,  Massachusetts. 


A  READER  REGARDLESS  OF  PRICE 

To  THii  Editor  : 

Tf  the  price  of  the  All-Story  is  raised 
to  five  jitneys  I  will  continue  to  have  it 
every  week. 

Keep  up  your  good  work.  I  am  always 
for  the  All-Story  Weekly. 

L.  C.  Bacon-. 

Concrete,  Colorado. 


HARD  TO  BEAT  THIS  RECORD 

To  the  Editor: 

Just  finished  reading  the  issue  of  May 
8  of  the  Alt-Story  Cavalier,  and  was  very 
much  disappointed  in  you  for  announcing 
the  proposed  abolition  of  the  word  "  Cava- 
lier "  from  the  title  of  this,  the  best  of  the 
all-fiction  magazines. 

.  I  take  about  fifteen  different  publica- 
tions every  month,  but  prefer  the  com- 
bined-title magazine  to  all  the  rest,  not 
only  because  I  can  get  it  every  week,  but 
because  it  contains,  in  my  opinion,  just  the 
right  proportion  of  comedy,  tragedy,  and 
pathos  to  appeal  to  almost  any  reader. 

I  will  not  say  I  prefer  any  one,  two,  or 
three  authors  more  than  I  do  others,  be- 
cause if  I  do  not  like  the  title  of  a  story  I 
do  not  read  it.  This  does  not  mean  that 
the  story  is  no  good,  because  other  mem- 
bers of  my  family  probably  do  like  it.  and 
1  have  quite  a  large  family,  consisting  as 
it  does  of  ten  people,  eight  of  whom  are 
weekly  readers  of  The  Cavalier. 

I  really  do  not  wish  to  bore  you.  Mr. 
Editor,  as  I  know  you  surely  are  a  very 
busy  man.  However.  I  was  reading  in  the 
Heart  to  Heart  Talks  some  time  ago  of 
some  people  who  claim  that  they  are  the 
oldest  readers  of  this  magazine.  Unless 
T  am  wholly  wrong  in  my  contention,  I  am 
about  as  old  a  reader,  not  subscriber,  as 
the  magazine  has.  I  thought  I  would 
write  and  ask  if  the  following  is,  or  is  not, 
correct: 

Is  not  the  present  day  All-Story  Cava- 
lier the  lineal  descendent  of  The  Ocean 
Magazine,  and  is  not  the  following  the  di- 
rect line  of  magazines  from  that  old-timer? 

First  The  Ocean:  then  The  Live  Wire; 
third  The  Scrap  Book:  then  you  brought 
out  The  Cavalier,  which  was  eventually 
combined  with  The  Scrap  Book  under  the 
title  Cavalier-Scrap  Book:  then  the  word 
Scrap-Book  was  dropped  from  the  title, 
leaving  Cavalier,  which  stood  until  the 
present  combination  was  consummated. 
Now  the  name  will  be  the  plain  All-Story 
just  as  The  All-Story  was  before  the  com- 
bination. 

Well.  Mr.  Editor,  I  will  not  tire  you  any 
longer  with  this  rigmarole  except  to  say 
1  do  not  believe  that  I  have  missed  a  dozen 
issues  since  the  first  Ocean  came  out.  and 
although  I  haven't  a  copy  of  any  of  the 
above  list,  I  well  remember  them  all. 

Wishing  the  magazine  all  kinds  of  suc- 
cess. 

An   ardent  admirer  ot   the  All-Story 

Weekly,  t  m 

Hugh  L.  Shaknow, 

1501  %  Harrison  Street, 
Davenport.  Iowa. 


ABU  fheD&xk) 

/  ferletj  Ibore  Sheeh&n 

Author  of  "  Thm  Woman  of  Uio  Pyramid,"  "  Thm  Lost  Hearth*toa«." 
"Judith  of  Babylon."  "  W*  A* •  Fr.ncK  ! "  otc. 

SYNOPSIS  OF  PRECEDING  CHAPTERS 

ABU,  a  slave  of  white  extraction  on  the  East  Coast  of  Africa,  is  goaded  to  fury  by 
the  theft  of  a  Double-Eye  talisman  he  has  found,  and  kills  AI-Marwazi,  his  mas- 
ter, recovering  it.    Kula,  the  old.  black  witch-doctor,  hails  Abu  as  the  Dawn-Maker, 

the  Messiah  of  the  slaves,  who  revolt.  Abu  takes  an  oath  against  possessions,  wine,  and 
women,  and  resists  the  blandishments  of  Khadija.  Al-Marwazi's  newest  bride.  He 
takes  Zena.  a  fair-sized  city,  despite  the  treachery  of  Razi.  Al-Marwazi's  chamberlain. 
An  old  woman  comes,  begging  the  prophet  to  raise  her  dead — and  as  Abu  looks  into 

the  painted  log  coffin,  there  is  a  movement  in  it. 

The  "corpse"  proves  to  be  Khadija,  and  her  "coming  to  life  "  is  hailed  as  a  mira- 
cle by  the  populace.  He  resists  her  advances  again,  and  after  a  council  with  his  gen- 
erals, goes  to  the  Sacred  Grove  to  be  initiated  by  the  priests.  But  he  scoffs  at  their 
mummery,  declaring  that  vital  things  are  toward,  and  with  a  whip  he  beats  his  follow- 
ers from  an  orgy  they  had  started.  His  own  oath  he  administers  to  them.,  and  they  start 
for  Zcmballa,  meeting  some  horsemen  on  the  way. 

Reaching  Zemballa,  Abu  and  his  party  are  welcomed  by  the  sultan.  Sayd  Bin 
Sayf.  who  invites  them  to  a  feast,  meaning  to  poison  them  and  steal  Khadija.  But 
Sefu  manages  to  learn  of  the  plans,  kills  Razi  and  the  sultan,  and  is  made  sultan  by 
Abu.  who  goes  on  toward  Mamangno.  Mother  of  the  World.  The  caravan  stops  by  the 
seashore  on  the  way  at  night,  and  Abu  sits  to  meditate.  Khadija  comes  up  behind 
him,  and  the  wind,  called  the  Breath  of  Allah,  blows  her  hair  across  his  face.  He  is 
sorely  tempted  to  break  his  oath  and  take  her  in  his  arms. 

But  Abu  finds  strength  to  stick  to  his  purpose.  Khadija  helping  him  They  reach 
Mamangno,  where  he  is  eagerly  welcomed  as  the  prophet.  In  the  night  Abu*s  longing 
drives  him  to  Khadija's  tent.  She  is  delighted.  But  again  be  resists  her.  Kula  sees 
them  and  tries  to  poison  her.  but  Abu  drinks  the  fermented  milk,  breaking  part  of  his 
oath  and  all  but  dying.  They  pull  him  through,  and  Khadija  goes  away,  feeling  it  her 
dutv.  Abu  is  hailed  as  one  who  has  come  back  from  death.  All  is  going  well,  but  the 
F.nglish  have  taken  cognizance  ' 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 
The   First  Thunder-Clap. 

TT  happened  that  at  that  time. 
_        as  afterward,  England  and 


Portugal  had  a  working 
agreement  as  to  the  man- 
agement of  certain  affairs 
connected  with  their  neigh- 
boring colonies  in  Africa. 
In  many  respects,  their  interests 
were  mutual  and  inseparable,  such,  for 


example,  as  in  the  good  conduct  of 
the  native  hordes,  the  suppression  of 
piracy,  the  maintenance  of  the  status 
quo. 

On  the  day  that  Abu  made  that 
great  speech  of  his,  H.  M.  cruiser 
Vatuty  came  floating  tranquilly  into 
the  harbor  of  Zanzibar,  and  no  sooner 
was  her  anchor  down  than  Captain 
Berwind  was  over  her  side  and  off  in 
a  sparkling  launch  to  call  on  his  old 
friend,  the  agent. 


Thi.  .tory  began  in  The  All-Story  Cavalier  Weekly  for  May  3. 


734 


ABU,  THE  DAWN-MAKER. 


725 


The  Agency  was  one  of  the  pleas- 
antest  places  on  the  coast — large, 
light  and  airy,  in  the  midst  of  a 
charming  garden,  verandas  that  were 
alike  famous  for  their  view  and  their 
hospitality. 

And  Captain  Berwind  sighed  as  he 
bade  his  host  good-by  with  a  hearty 
handclasp  and  a  slap  on  the  shoulder. 

"  It  makes  me  quite  ill  to  leave  you 
so  soon,"  said  the  captain,  who  was 
the  picture  of  pink  health  and  jollity 
as  he  said  it ;  "  but  really,  we  shall 
have  to  look  in  on  the  beggars.  Back 
again  in  a  fortnight,  you  know." 

The  agent  smiled. 

"  I  fancy  it's  nothing  serious. 
Deuced  pits'  vou  have  to  toddle  off  like 
this!  " 

The  sparkling  launch  once  more 
trailed  her  wake  across  the  harbor. 
In  a  little  while  there  came  the  silver 
trill  of  a  bo's'n's  pipe  and  up  from 
the  mud  and  water  came  the  Vanity's 
anchor. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day.  calm  and 
transparently  clear. 

While  the  mosques  and  towers  and 
the  long  white  walls  of  the  town  were 
still  as  distinct  and  colorful  as  a  pic- 
ture by  Gerome,  there  lifted  above  the 
horizon  the  dim  contour  of  the  main- 
land, almost  thirty  miles  away. 

"  They  say  the  fellow,  sir,  is  some- 
thing of  a  religious  fanatic."  Lieu- 
tenant Gordon  remarked  to  his  chief. 

"  Religion  and  murder  usually  go 
hand-in-hand  in  these  latitudes,"  said 
the  captain. 

"  As  in  dear  old  Glasgow,  sir,  some 
time  back." 

"  You  may  have  a  chance  to  lead  a 
shore-party,"  the  captain  remarked. 

"  Oh.  sir,  I  shall  be  the  proudest 
man  in  the  fleet !  " 

"  Tut,  tut."  said  the  captain  be- 
iiignantly.  There'll  be  little  enough 
glory;  a  few  niggers  more  or  a  few 
niggers  less !  " 

The  Vanity  steered  south,  not  going 
very  fast,  burning  no  more  coal  than 
she  had  to.  There  was  no  occasion 
for  reckless  haste — not  so  far  as  any- 


one knew.  She  would  take  her  time, 
give  a  look  round  on  the  way. 

Besides,  there  was  the  time  of  the 
day  she  would  prefer  to  pay  her  re- 
spects ^  to  Zemballa.  that  being  the 
more  important  of  the  two  towns  that 
she  had  in  mind. 

She  was  keeping  well  out,  but  along 
toward  sundown  she  managed  to  pick 
up  a  dhow,  with  a  villainous-looking 
crew  aboard,  under  the  captaincy  of 
one  Msenna,  who  was  as  much  a  fol- 
lower of  the  Prophet  as  he  was  a  fol- 
lower of  anything — excepting  the 
shore;  for  to  hug  the  coast  was  his 
only  science  of  navigation. 

Captain  Berwind  invited  Msenna 
into  his  cabin,  and  Msenna  came, 
where  they  discussed  the  weather  and 
the  local  gossip,  with  the  greatest  pos- 
sible cordialty. 

It  was  a  pleasant  place,  in  spite  tjt 
the  breeches  of  a  couple  of  big  guns 
that  obtruded  their  presence  on  the  un- 
initiated visitor.  There  was  an  elec- 
tric fan.  a  fernery,  a  couple  of  ger- 
aniums that  had  come  out  from  Eng- 
land, a  lively  canary  in  a  cage,  a  table 
with  a  red  cloth. 

"  It  is  even  as  I  tell  you,"  said 
Msenna.  with  his  eyes  now  on  a  lit- 
tle stack  of  sovereigns  which  lay  to 
the  left  on  the  captain's  table,  and 
again  on  the  service-revolver,  which 
lay  to  his  right.  "  Sultan  Sayd  Bin 
Sayf  was  killed  four  days  ago.  and 
now  his  throne  in  the  palace  is  oc- 
cupied by  Sultan  Sefu,  surnamed  the 
Giver  of  Gifts,  surnamed  the  People's 
Friend,  surnamed  the  Dawn-Maker's 
Elder  Son.    He  is—  " 

"  Where  is  this  Dawn-Maker 
now?"  asked  the  captain. 

"  Lo.  they  say  he  is  ascended  in  a 
cloud,  even  as —  " 

The  captain  scowled  at  his  revolver, 
looked  Msenna  over. 

•'Where  is  the  Dawn-Maker  now?" 

"  Lo,  even  as  I  said,  and  he  has 
come  to  earth  again  at  the  hill  called 
the  Mamangno." 

The  captain  started.  The  place  was 
indicated  on  all  marine-charts  as  one 


726 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


of  the  ancient  coast-marks  of  import- 
ance. 

"  Msenna,"  he  said.  "  I  hate  to  do 
it :  but  I  am  going  to  give  you  and 
your  men  a  free  ride  and  your  boat 

a  tow/''  . 

Msenna  began  a  protest. 

"  You  had  no  papers.  I  suspect  you 
of  piracy,"  snapped  the  captain.  "If 
I  find  that  I  am  mistaken,  and  a 
mighty  short  time  will  permit  me  to 
find  out.  I'll  pay  you  this  gold." 

The  captain  raised  his  hand  an  inch 
or  two,  and  the  marines  who  had  been 
M  senna's  honorary  escort,  hustled 
him  to  the  upper  deck,  where  the  ven- 
tilation was  better. 

The  Vanity,  belying  her  name,  had 
the  ragged  dhow  in  tow  as  she  circled 
out  and  Up  the  coast  in  the  direction 
of  Zena.  and  while  she  was  still  a 
good  eight  miles  off  her  destination, 
another  dhow  was  reported,  dipping 
to  the  breeze,  doing  her  best,  ap- 
parently, to  head  the  cruiser  off. 

Ten  minutes  later,  the  officer  of  the 
deck  reported  that  the  dhow  had  run 
up  the  Portuguese  flag,  that  there  was 
a  man  who  appeared  to  be  a  Portu- 
guese officer  aboard. 

In  another  ten  minutes,  the  captain 
of  the  Vanity  was  receiving  the  second 
visitor  in  his  cabin — a  small  man. 
v.  irv.  efficient. 

"Braga!" 

M  Berwind  P* 

u  You'll  excuse  me,"  said  the  Por- 
tuguese captain  with  a  laugh,  "  for 
appearing  without  shirt  and  collar, 
with  slippers  instead  of  shoes — '* 

He  had  pulled  on  a  suit  of  linen — 
jacket  and  trousers — and  nothing 
else,  except  the  Moorish  slippers  he 
wore. 

" — but  you  see  I  was  an  Arab 
when  I  left  the  shore.  I  left  my  rags 
in  the  dhow,  and  you  can  thank  God 
for  that,  Berwind." 

They  looked  at  each  other  with 
smiling  seriousness. 

The  flag-officer  who  had  accom- 
panied Braga  to  Captain  Berwind's 
quarters  saluted  and  withdrew. 


"  You  have  arrived  just  in  time," 
said  Captain  Braga,  when  they  were 
alone.  "  I  knew  you  would.  Oh  you 
British !  The  thing  was  getting  ser- 
ious ! n 

"  I  smelled  it  at  Zanzibar."  said  Ber- 
wind. "  I  didn't  like  the  way  the  fel- 
lows in  the  dhows  looked  up  at  me, 
the  way  the  niggers  on  the  water-front 
strutted  and  bunched  together." 

"They're  all  in  it,"  said  Braga; 
"  Swahili  and  Kafirs,  Amatonga. 
Momhasah.  bushmen  from  the  back- 
country — all !  " 

"  By  the  Lord  Harry!" 

"  You  know  about  Zemballa.  No 
regrets!  Sayd  Bin  Sayf  is  well  out  of 
the  way.  This  fellow  Sefu,  who,  ac- 
cording to  my  secret  agents,  has  taken 
Sayd's  place,  appears  to  be  not  a  bad 
sort — 1  people's  friend.' — easy  to  man- 
age if  we  show  him  that  we  are  the 
people's  hope.  It  is  like  that  with 
Saadi,  now  on  the  top  of  the  heap  at 
Zena —  "  . 

"So  they  hold  Zena.  too?" 

"  They've  done  me  that  favor."  said 
Braga.  "  They've  performed  a  real 
service — cleaned  out  Al-Marwazi  and 
his  friends — you  know,  those  fellows 
who  have  been  plotting  another  Arab 
conquest  ?  Saadi  wilf  make  the  best 
of  allies  for  us  it  we  treat  him  right. 
But—  " 

"  But  this  chap  they  call  the  Day- 
Breaker,  or  the  Dawn-Maker,  or —  " 

"  Him,"  said  Braga.  slowly.  "  we 
shall  have  to  get !  " 

"  Another  mad  mullah?  " 

"  Another  Mohammed!  " 

"No!" 

"  Precisely!  Berwind.  you  and  I 
have  grown  gray  in  this  part  of  the 
world,  haven't  we?  We've  seen  some 
pretty  ticklish  situations,  by  and  large, 
haven't  we?  Well,  my  friend,  this  is 
one  of  them — the  beginning  of  one  of 
them,  at  any  rate.  They  had  a  chauri 
on  the  Mamangno  to-day.  They've 
decided  that  their  next  step  will  be  the 
capture  of — Zanzibar!" 

"  My  word!" 

"  They  say  the  natives  there,  nig- 


ABU,  THE  DAWN-MAKER. 


727 


ger  and  Arab,  afloat  and  ashore,  are 
ready  for  the  word.  Ami,  you  know. 
'  if  you  play  the  flute  in  Zanzibar  ' —  " 

"  What's  he  like,  this  prophet — a 
swash-buckler,  a  blood-drinker?" 

"  Worse !    The  s\vine"s  a  poet !  " 

u  Curse  it !  I'll  get  the  beggar  and 
take  that  out  of  him.*' 

"  The  sooner  the  better  for  all  of 
us.  I've  made  my  arrangements. 
Over  in  Zemballa  I  can  have  Sefu 
seized  at  any  time.  I  can  also  have 
a  certain  mullah  who  has  been  help- 
ing him,  knifed  by  an  enthusiast. 
That  done,  all  that  remains  is  diplo- 
macy. 

M  Here  in  Zena,  my  men  and  the 
Arabs  of  the  back  country,  who  are 
ready,  can  clean  up  the  town  the  mo- 
ment that  this  d — d  Dawn-Maker  is 
out  of  the  way,  and — sure — not — to 
— come  back." 

"  He  won't  come  back." 

"  I  suggest  that  we  get  him  to-mor- 
row at  daybreak.  He'll  be  on  his  hill. 
•We  can  pen  him  up  for  the  night.  I'm 
afraid  there'll  be  a  hot  ten  minutes  or 
so.  He  won't  surrender.  He's  not 
that  kind." 

The  captain  rubbed  his  nose.  He 
touched  a  bell. 

"  A  nip  before  dinner,  Braga?  No, 
it  will  scarcely  be  worth  while  to  ask 
him  to  surrender — not  until —  " 

In  the  meantime,  the  Vanity  was 
pawing  the  smooth  green  water  like 
an  impatient  horse  on  the  turf.  Her 
smoke  curled  upward,  then  slanted 
toward  the  shore  in  response  to  the 
variable  breeze. 

She  was  barely  moving,  but  getting 
closer  and  closer  to  the  coast. 

The  shore,  from  where  she  lay,  was 
a  picture  of  perfect  peace — a  flaming 
sky  over  a  tropic  waterfront;  jungle- 
rovered,  except  where  Zena  lay,  a 
streak  of  saffron  and  pinkish  white 
a  little  to  the  north;  flat,  except  where 
the  headland  called  the  Mamangno 
thrust  out  its  dark-green  cliff  almost 
to  the  water's  edge  a  little  further 
south. 

Lieutenant  Gordon,  on  the  bridge, 


studied  the  scene  passionately  through 
his  binoculars.  The  light  was  bad, 
with  the  shore  in  the  shadow  and  the 
sea  as  brilliant  as  the  sky.  But  he  saw 
enough  to  keep  him  interested. 

"There  appear  to  be  enough  of  the 
rascals  scampering  about,"  he  said; 
"  more  than  enough  for  any  good." 

*•  There'll  perhaps  be  fewer  of  them 
when  the  Old  Man  gets  through  with 
them/'  said  Lieutenant  Smith,  his  par- 
ticular friend,  who  was  there  at  his 
side.    "  Why.  what—  " 

From  the  black  top  of  the  Ma- 
mangno there  had  come  a  spark  of 
light  in  the  deepening  twilight,  a  puff 
of  smoke,  then,  long  afterward,  the 
thud  of  a  cannon. 

"  A  salute,"  said  Smith. 

"  No,"  said  Gordon;  ,£  by  the  Great 
Horn  Spoon,  it's' a  challenge!" 

A  spurt  of  water  marked  where  a 
shot  had  struck  the  oily,  rocking  sur- 
face of  the  sea. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 
Night  Before  the  Dawn. 

THERE  was    a    tremor   of  panic 
among  most  of  the  natives  as- 
sembled on  the  Mamangno  and 
around  it. 

A  good  many  of  them  had  never 
seen  a  warship  before,  but  they  had 
all  heard  about  such  a  thing.  It  had 
always  been  one  of  the  chief  instru- 
ments of  the  white  man's  magic. 

There  was  a  tradition  concerning  it 
that  was  more  potent  even  than  the 
tradition  of  the  Dawn-Maker. 

Abu  sought  to  allay  this  panic.  He 
was  all  the  more  keen  in  hfs  efforts 
to  do  so  because  he  recognized  that 
there  was  a  trace  of  it,  perhaps,  in  his 
own  heart. 

Not  that  he  was  afraid.  He  had 
passed  beyond  fear  of  any  kind,  long 
ago.  He  was  a  man  who  had  cast  off 
definitely  all  claim  to  life  and  to  those 
things  that  render  life  dear. 

It  was  nc  who  ordered  the  cannon 
bred,  although  he  was  not  fool  enough 


to  imagine  that  it  could  have  any  pos- 
sible effect  on  that  great  steel  mystery 
floating  out  there  in  the  offing.  It  was 
the  effect  on  his  followers  that  he  was 
after,  for  he  glimpsed  the  great  trag- 
edv  that  was  already  drawing  near. 

lie  called  his  counselors  about  him. 
talked  to  them  about  the  reconstitu- 
tion  of  the  old  Zcnj  empire  to  the 
north,  of  Chaka's  old  empire  to  the 
south. 

He  commanded  the  drummer  to 
send  out  the  call  for  all  the  fighting 
men  of  all  the  tribes  of  Africa;  and 
this  time  the  sound  of  the  drum 
tumbled  and  rolled  like  thunder — 
something  wholly  different  from  the 
calls  that  had  gone  out  to  the  wise 
men. 

It  was  to  such  an  accompaniment 
as  this  that  he  talked  of  achieving  em- 
pire through  sacrifice — ten  thousand, 
or  a  hundred  thousand  Dawn-Mak- 
ers, not  one:  and  each  of  them,  like 
him.  the  bridegroom  of  a  new  day. 

But  in  the  midst  of  all  this  there 
came  a  new  excitement.  It  was  panic 
mixed  with  exaltation,  this  time. 

Around  a  point  of  land  to  the  south 
there  had  suddenly  appeared  a  dhow 
with  the  flag  of  the  Dawn-Maker 
flapping  at  the  masthead. 

There  was  scarcely  any  breeze,  but 
the  crew  of  the  dhow,  evidently  num- 
erous, had  the  sweeps  out  and  were 
rowing. 

The  first  dhow  was  followed  by  an- 
other, then  another  and  another,  until 
there  was  a  full  score  of  them.  It 
Was  the  fleet  of  Abdullah. 

The  sails  were  red  and  yellow,  or 
striped  blue  and  dirty  white.  The 
hulls  were  crowded. 

While  these  were  fanning  dug  and 
away  from  the  shore,  evidently  in 
keeping  with  some  prearranged  plan, 
there  appeared  from  the  same  quar- 
ter a  small  iron  steamship  that  had 
long  been  familiar  to  every  native  liv- 
ing on  the  shore. 

It  was  the  Portuguese  gunboat  Di- 
ogo  Cam. 

She  was  shaggy  from  neglect.  She 


was  belching  blue  wood-smoke.  But 
she  also  floated  the  flag  of  the  Double 

Eye. 

And.  a  go<*l  deal  as  a  terrier  would 
bolt  for  a  bull,  she  headed  straight 
fur  the  cruiser. 

All  this  in  the  flare  and  shimmer 
of  the  setting  sun,  with  the  Indian 
Ocean  rocking  lazily,  with  stupendous 
Afriea  looking  on. 

It  was  the  cruiser  that  spoke  first. 
There  was  a  puff  of  smoke,  followed 
by  an  inadequate  Inn  spiteful  bark.  It 
was  a  blank  cartridge,  more  likely 
than  not. 

The  Diogo  Cam  kept  her  course. 
She  seemed  to  be  picking  up  a  little 
speed,  although  her  progress  seemed 
slow  enough  to  those  who  watched  her 
from  the  shore. 

There  ruffled  up  the  first  breath  of 
a  breeze  that  sent  her  flag  to  writh- 
ing, and  which  was  seized  upon  im- 
mediately, moreover,  by  the  quick  sail- 
ors in  the  dhows. 

One  or  two  of  them,  the  first  to 
catch  the  breeze,  heeled  over  and 
raced  in  the  direction  of  the  cruiser 
like  gulls  intent  on  a  feed. 

The  cruiser  barked  again,  and  this 
time  there  was  a  jump  of  white  water 
near  the  Diogo  Cam's  stem.  At  the 
same  time  a  little  trail  of  signal-flags 
shook  out  over  the  cruiser,  as  foolish- 
looking  as  a  line  of  washing. 

But  to  neither  of  these  things  did 
the  Diogo  Cam  pay  any  more  atten- 
tion than  she  had  paid  to  that  pre- 
vious shot.    She  kept  right  on. 

Then,  suddenly,  the  Diogo  Cam 
herself  boomed  out  a  challenge.  She 
had  two  small  cannon  mounted  in  bar- 
bettes to  port  and  starboard,  and  a 
quick-fire  mounted  on  her  bridge. 

She  must  have  fired  all  of  these 
simultaneously;  only  the  quick-fire 
was  still  rippling  out  its  blasphemies 
after  the  cannon  had  already  coughed 
their  say. 

At  the  same  time  there  was  desul- 
tory firing  from  several  of  the  dhows. 

This  much  happened  in  one  of  those 
breathless,  eternal  seconds  which  are 


ABU,  THE  I 

long  enough  for  the  destruction  or  the 
creation  of  a  universe.  Then  the 
cruiser  fired  twice,  and  it  was  seen 
that  something  had  happened  to  the 
Diogo  Cam  and  likewise  to  one  of  the 
dhows. 

The  gunboat  had  grown  smaller  by 
her  top-hamper.  Her  bridge  and  her 
smoke-stack  had  jumped  below  as  if 
they  had  been  pulled  by  strings. 

The  stricken  dhow  was  fluttering 
over  on  its  side  like  a  winged  bird, 
and  some  of  her  people  were  over- 
board. 

Another  one  of  those  surcharged 
seconds,  shattered  by  a  double  puff 
and  a  double,  snapping  bark  from  the 
cruiser,  and  the  Diogo  Cam  answered 
instantly  with  a  puff  of  steam,  a  faint, 
rumbling  roar. 

She  pawed  the  air  for  a  second  or 
two.    She  disappeared. 

All  this  on  the  rocking  ocean,  in 
the  last  red  flare  of  the  sunset,  in  the 
midst  of  a  sort  of  magnificent  cyn- 
icism in  which  even  the  cruiser  shared 
— as  if  the  cruiser  were  a  part  of  that 
superworld  which  has  no  regard  what- 
soever for  the  affairs  of  men. 

And  then  panic  had  broken  out 
again  on  the  Mamangno  and  in  the 
vicinity  of  it,  and  there  was  a  swirl- 
ing movement  of  the  people  in  l he 
first  distracted,  aimless  rush  of  an  in- 
cipient stampede. 

As  if  it  had  seen  enough,  the  sun 
plopped  down,  and  it  was  almost  in- 
stantly night — just  enough  light  left 
out  at  sea  to  show  how  other  dhows 
were  being  crippled  by  the  leisurely, 
occasional  sniff  of  the  great  steel  beast 
out  there. 

"Brothers,    brothers!"   cried  Abu. 

But  he  could  scarcely  make  his 
voice  heard.  His  heart  was  filled  with 
anguish  at  the  thought  that  thus  Ab- 
dallah  had  sacrificed  himself  in  some 
wild  hope  that  he  would  be  protected 
by  the  Double  Eye,  and  the  parallel 
thought  that  all  these  men  who  had  as- 
sembled here  to  do  him  honor,  to  share 
his  dream  of  the  Dawn,  might  sim- 
ilarly be  annihilated. 


AWN -MAKER.  729 

He  had  been  looking  forward  to 
some  sort  of  a  miracle,  and  this  was 
the  answer  to  it. 

"  Brothers,  brothers,"  he  shouted, 
nevertheless:  "nothing  can  happen  to 
you— nothing  but  death!  And  what 
is  death,  if  we  die  for  the  Dawn?  *" 

Darkness  closed  in,  sudden  and 
tight,  almost  like  an  act  of  imprison- 
ment. But  some  one  fired  the  pile  of 
brushwood  that  had  been  prepared  in 
front  of  his  tent,  and  the  flames  roared 
up  showing  the  throne-chair  there  and 
the  piled-up  treasure  on  the  elephant- 
skin. 

Abu  rushed  into  the  tent  in  search 
of  Rennyvo,  in  search  of  Kula.  The 
lamps  were  lighted,  but  the  place  was 
deserted. 

A  moment,  and  he  was  listening  to 
the  huge  sough  of  a  rising  storm,  re- 
moter and  greater  than  the  shouting 
and  movement  of  the  camp  outside 
the  tent.  Before  he  could  make  a 
move  to  learn  the  meaning  of  this 
new  tumult,  Kula  and  several  other 
of  the  witch-doctors  burst  in  upon 
him. 

It  was  Kula  who  spoke,  even  as  he 
came  slanting  forward  and  knelt  in 
front  of  him. 

"  Something  has  happened  at  Zena, 
also."  cried  Kula.  "  They  are  storm- 
ing here  in  this  direction.  We  are 
afraid  that  they  mean  no  good.  Save 
yourself! " 

"  Save  myself ?  "  Abu  exclaimed, 
tensely.  He  laughed.  "  Save  )iiy- 
self.  when  I'm  meant  to  save  the 
world  ?  " 

Kula  looked  up  at  him  with  the 
mute  appeal  of  a  tame  animal.  The 
other  witch-doctors  cried  out  to  Abu 
and  among  themselves  that  there  was 
a  time  to  fight  and  a  time  to  flee. 

Abu  cursed. 

"  Where's  Rennyvo  ?  Where  is  Mar 
tanda?  Oh.  by  Allah.  I'll  go  alone—" 

"  Come  away  with  us  to  the  Sa- 
cred Grove,"  cried  Kula. 

"  Have  you  still  faith  in  the  Sacred 
Grove?" 

"  Yes !   The  world  changes,  and  the 


730 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


men  in  it,  but  the  Sacred  Grove  never 

changes  1 

"  Then  hurry  to  it — you  and  all  the 
old  men."  Abu  answered.  "Pray  to 
your  gods,  and  pray  to  Mecca,  and 
pray  to  the  Father  of  All  Gods,  black 
.•.nil  white.  Hut  we  younger  men  shall 
stay  here  to  light.  The  white  men  can 
beat  us  on  the  ocean,  but  on  the  land 
we're  equal,  we're— *  ' 

What  he  was  saying  was  inter- 
rupted by  a  fusillade  at  the  foot  of  the 
Mamangno.  a  surge  of  cheering  and 
shrieks. 

Just  outside  the  tent,  in  the  midst  of 
the  general  clamor  there.  Abu  heard  a 
voice  he  recognized.  He  started  to 
spring  forward,  but  before  he  could 
lake  a  step,  Matanda  staggered  in — 
-.tsping.  naked,  wounded. 

"  Bzvana!  "  he  cried. 

Abu  caught  him,  lowered  him  to  the 
carpet. 

"  The  Arabs — they  have  taken  Zena 
«>y  surprise — an  army  of  them  gath- 
ered from  the  hills — aided  by  the  Por- 
tuguese— who  have  left  their  fort —  " 

"  Kula.  quick!  Matanda  is  wound- 
ed." cried  Abu.  apparently  indifferent 
to  anything  else.  "  Linen — water — 
brown  powder —  " 

Matanda  smiled  up  at  Abu. 

"  Dawn-Maker!    Dawn-Maker!  " 

The  smile  remained  as  his  life  slip- 
ped out 

The  old  men  lifted  Matanda  and 
started  off  with  him  across  the  tent, 
but  it  was  doubtful  where  they  hoped 
to  carry  him.  The  human  storm, 
which,  at  it*  height,  is  ahvays  more 
terrible  than  thunder  and  "lightning 
can  ever  be.  was  growing  momentarily 
more  violent,  more  pressing. 

There  were  shots  at  the  very  door 
of  the  tent,  the  voice  of  Rennyvo  in 
command,  a  howl  of  savage  laughter. 

It  was  a  strange  contrast — first  that 
group  of  old  men  carrying  off  the 
body  of  Matanda.  staggering  a  little 
under  the  weight;  then  that  other 
group  that  staggered  in  under  Ren- 
nyvo's  command,  for  they  were  young 
and  excited  and  they  were  tugging  at 


the    elephant-hide  with   its  piled-up 

treasure. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

While  Hope  Flickered. 

"IO!  the  mob  from  Zena,"  cried 
Kennyvo,  M  came  like  a  pack  of 
famished  hyenas!  Traitors  had 
spread  word  that  the  treasure  was 
here  for  the  taking.  They — " 

'•  The  Arabs?  "  Abu  asked. 

"It  was  the  opportunity  the  Arabs 
and  the  Portuguese  were  waiting  for. 
Saadi  has  been  seized  and  taken  to  the 
fort.  The  Portuguese  control  the 
town.  The  Arabs  are  scattering 
through  the  brush.  I  came  to  save 
this." 

He  indicated  the  treasure. 

u  I  came  to  save  you.  I  shall  cut  a 
path  for  you,  get  you  to  a  place  of 
safety.*' 

"I  flee?"  cried  Abu.  fiercely.  "I 
am  in  the  arms  of  my  mother.  Here 
I  remain !  " 

"  You  could  return  here  later  " 

"  I  could.  Rennyvo.  I,  Abu!  The 
Dawn-Maker  could  never  return !  " 

'Spoken  like  a  king!'*  cried  Ren- 
nyvo.   "  Spoken  like  a  Hova !  " 

He  knelt  and  kissed  Abu's  hand. 

But  the  immediate  clanger  was  evi- 
dently not  from  either  Arabs  or  Por- 
tuguese, but  from  the  mob  that  had 
come  out  from  Zena. 

There  was  a  sw  irl  of  cries  and  light- 
ing at  the  door  of  the  tent,  and  the 
first  of  the  mob  appeared,  overwhelm- 
ing the  warriors  whom  Rennyvo  had 
left  on  guard  while  he  tried  to  make 
the  treasure  safe. 

They  fought  their  way  in  with 
famished  cries,  eager,  indifferent  to 
blows,  their  eyes,  their  faces,  their 
every  movement  indicating  that  they 
were  the  human  wolf-pack  that  has 
scented  loot. 

They  were  worse  than  they  had  been 
that  night  at  Al-Marwazi's  house, 
worse  even  than  they  had  been  after- 
ward at  Zena.  for  now  they  had  tasted 


ABU,  THE  DAWN-MAKER. 


731 


the  sort  of  blood  they  wanted,  had  be- 
come insatiable. 

A  dozen  men  fell  as  they  scrambled 
at  tthe  glittering  horde  on  the  elephant 
hide. 

Rennyvo  shrieked  something  that 
was  both  order  and  curse,  and  sprang 
forward.  He  was  unarmed.  He 
kicked  and  struck.  It  was  as  though 
he  kicked  and  struck  a  waterfall. 

Abu  seized  the  copper  incense-urn. 
He  swung  it  up.  He  advanced  with  it 
poised. 

Not  Samson  with  his  jaw-bone  of 
an  ass  could  have  slain  more  Philis- 
tines than  Abu  could  have  slain  with 
a  club  like  that. 

But  he  stayed  his  hand. 

A  hollow-eyed  beach-comber  whom 
he  recognized,  and  who  must  'have 
been  cheated  out  of  the  good  things  of 
Zena,  for  he  was  still  gaunt  and  still 
in  rags,  was  sprawled  there,  just  in 
front  of  him.  and  had  turned  and 
looked  up  at  him  as  he  clutched  at  gold 
and  gems. 

The  mob  was  like  a  swarm  of  rats 
in  a  granary. 

Abu  staggered  back,  cast  his  weapon 
from  him.  He  caught  the  furious 
Rennyvo  by  the  arm  and  drew  him 
away. 

**  Let  them  do  as  they  wish,"  he  said. 
"  Call  off  your  men." 

But  even  tlhose  warriors  of  Rcn- 
nyvo's  were  not  exempt  from  the  same 
passion  that  consumed  the  mob.  They 
had  guessed  the  order  before  it  reached 
them,  were  themselves  dipping  into 
the  treasure. 

In  its  scrambling  haste  the  mob  was 
making  poor  progress.  Many  of  the 
men  who  composed  it  were  almost 
naked,  or,  at  best,  clad  in  mere  rags. 
They  tried  to  gather  the  treasure  into 
their  arms.  It  slipped  from  their 
grasp. 

They  tried  again. 

Sometimes  one  would  get  as  far  as 
the  opening  in  the  rear  of  the  tent, 
would  be  jostled  or  toppled  over, 
would  have  to  begin  all  over  again. 

But  a  huge  Kafir  made  a  sack  of 


his  loin-cloth  and  scraped  it  full, 
started  to  stagger  away  into  the  con- 
cealing night. 

Others  were  wildly  following  his  ex- 
ample— mauling,  grabbing,  scratching, 
disappearing  with  all  they  could  carry. 
The  treasure  melted  fast.  Soon  there 
were  those  who  crawled  about  on 
hands  and  knees  in  the  dim.  light 
shrieking  with  joy  over  a  single  nug- 
get, a  single  gem,  a  single  minted  coin. 

Kula  was  there  again,  telling  Abu 
that  he  had  had  a  sign  and  that  he 
was  going  out  to  meet  his  own  death 
in  a  fitting  way — a  way  that  would  do 
good,  perhaps,  for  the  cause.  There 
was  a  sacred  serpent  he  knew  about 
on  the  flanks  of  the  Mamangno  itself. 

.  You  are  the  Dawn-Maker,  t/he  son 
of  the  world,"  said  Kula.  "  There  re- 
mains to  me  a  little  fire,  a  little  strength. 
I  place  it.  O  Abu,  on  your  altar  with 
the  sacred  serpent  as  my  priest." 

"Don't  do  it."  said  Abu.  "Don't! 
What's  the  use?    It's  in  vain." 

"  No  act  like  that,  or  yours,  is  ever 
in  vain.  O  Abu.    Farewell!  " 

"Live  while  I  live!  O  Kula.  we 
were  slaves  together.  You  were  a 
father  to  me.  Leave  me  not.  Don't 
you  remember  when  1  was  little,  and 
Razi  had  beaten  me,  and  I  had  crawled 
into  the  stables  to  weep  alone,  and  you 
came  to  me —  " 

"  That  night  I  read  your  destiny  on 
your  brow.    The  time  has  come —  " 

"  And  then,  when  I  lay  fettered,  it 
was  you  who  went  to  Al-Marwazi,  on 
your  knees,  to  beg —  " 

"  Son.  son.  there  is  another  Master 

— the  Compassionate  one    I  need 

not  fear."  Kula  glanced  about  him, 
looked  back  at  Abu.  "Nor  you."  he 
said.    "  We  both  belong  to  Him." 

Kula  put  a  hand  to  his  ear.  He 
seemed  to  listen. 

"  The  red  night,"  he  whispered. 
"  The  angel  calls.    I  go!  " 

Like  a  shadow  he  went,  but  like  a 
shadow  that  had  left  something  of  it- 
self on  Abu's  spirit.  He  dropped  his 
head  in  his  hands.  There  were  still 
a  few  naked  mongrels  pawing  about. 


732 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


but  they  did  not  notice  him.  nor  did 
lie  notice  them. 

In  a  moment,  in  a  breath,  the  whole 
fabric  of  his  empire  had  come  tum- 
bling down.  A  giant  hand  had  reached 
out  and  shaken  him  from  his  dream. 
He  was  engulfed  in  an  atmosphere  of 
nightmare. 

A  little  while  ago  he  had  debated 
the  conquest  of  the  earth.  He  had 
looked  out  upon  a  world  that  was  new. 
Now  it  was  all  as  it  had  been.  He 
had  no  power  except  the  power  of  his 
body,  his  brain,  and  his  spirit.  Panic 
had  swept  his  people  away. 

Old  greeds,  old  lusts,  old  fears,  had 
them  in  their  grip  again — the  real  mas- 
ters of  the  world ! 

And  the  world  had  changed  for  him, 
as  well.  He  knew  it.  Deception  fell 
away  from  him.  Clear  sight  came  to 
linn  OOW,  with  the  roar  of  battle  and 
on  fusion  all  about  him — came  to  him 
as  it  had  come  often  before,  in  theold 
slave  days,  when  the  elements  of  his 
life  and  circumstances  fused  like  the 
metals  in  a  crucible  into  a  .single  flash 
of  blinding  truth. 

He  had  seen  the  faith  and  courage 
6f  Abdallah  snuffed  out  like  the  light 
of  a  candle,  by  a  breath  out  of  the  in- 
finite. 

Snuffed  out  also  was  the  flame  that 
had  blinded  him  for  these  past  few 
days — his  dream  of  empire,  his  dream 
of  world-deliverance.  He  had  felt  it 
w  hen  panic  first  fell  upon  the  people 
who  had  assembled  about  him — that 
they  were  on  a  foolish  quest. 

That  the  great  world  would  roll  on 
in  its  appointed  way  he  saw  clearly 
now.  whatever  the  aspirations  and 
prayers  of  men.  But  to  compensate 
this  void  that  overwhelmed  him  there 
rushed  in  the  thought  of  Khadija — 
her  love  for  him.  his  renunciation,  his 
desire  tor  her! 

This  desire  had  become  the  one  tre- 
mendous fact  of  the  universe.  He 
laughed.  He  shuddered.  And  he  had 
sent  her  away  from  him! 

All  this  in  a  small  group  of  seconds 
— such  seconds  as  a  man  might  live 


w  hen  he  is  being  hanged,  or  going 

over  the  brink  of  Eternity  in  any  other 
way.  It  sent  him  rushing  into  her 
part  of  the  tent. 

The  place  was  still  instinct  with  her 
presence.  Xo  bloodhound  could  have 
been  more  sensitive  to  the  atmosphere 
that  still  lingered  there  despite  aU  those 
who  had  passed  since  she  had  gone. 

He  caught  up  a  cushion  she  had 
used,  lie  smclled  it  while  his  breast 
heaved. 

"  Khadija."  he  whispered. 

His  brooding  was  ended  by  a  fresh 
outburst  of  heavy  firing  from  the  di- 
rection of  the  shore. 

It  aroused  him  to  energy. 

He  sprang  up,  looked  about  him, 
saw  w  hat  he  wanted  in  the  hippopo- 
tamus-hide w  hip  that  hung  against  the 
wall  of  the  tent.  It  brought  a  smile 
to  his  lips  even  now  to  recall  that  Kha- 
dija had  filched  it  from  him  for  the 
sake  of  some  girlish  whim. 

He  seized  it.  BWUflg  it  in  the  air. 

The  remaining  grubbers  about  the 
elephant-hide  squealed  and  chattered 
and  scrambled  out  into  the  night. 

He  tore  away  the  linen  tunic  until 
his  arms  and  breast  were  bare  and  his 
movements  unhampered.  The  medal- 
lion of  the  Double-F.ve  was  still  hang- 
ing there.  He  pressed  it  to  his  lips, 
lifted  it  above  hrs  head,  looked  up  at  it. 

"  You.  Eye  of  Omnipotence.  Eye 
that  looked  brightly  forth  at  the  Dawn 
of  Creation."  he  said,  "  look  into  the 
•night  and  tell  me — where  is — Kha- 
dija?" 


CHAPTER  XL. 

What  the  Double-Eye  Saw. 

AS  Abu  came  out  tfl  his  tent,  armed 
jf^k   with  his  whip  and  the  strength 
of   almost   superhuman  exalta- 
tion, he  paused  for  a  moment  or  two 
to  look  around  him. 

The  wide  lire  still  blazed,  sending 
its  quavering  red  light  to  the  jungle  all 
around  and  up  among  the  huge,  far- 
reaching  brandies  of  the  calabash  tree, 


ABU.  THE  DAWN-MAKER. 


733 


making  a  small  red  light,  like  the  one 
to  which  Kula  had  referred,  in  the 
midst  of  the  greater  night — the  night 
of  stars  and  eternity. 

He  saw  a  slinking  crowd  of  people 
— who  they  were  he  could  not  tell — 
off  to  one  side,  and  he  started  toward 
them.  But  they  fled  from  him.  al- 
though he  shouted  after  them: 

u  Ye  are  free.    What  do  ye  fear?  " 

He  turned. 

The  camp  was  deserted,  although 
there  were  sounds  of  war  in  several 
directions,  now  vague  and  small,  now 
clear  and  complex. 

Yet,  strangely  enough,  these  did  not 
interest  nim  immediately  so  much  as 
did  the  sight  of  the  animals  that  had 
been  left  there,  the  cattle  and  the  wild 
beasts  that  had  been  brought  to  him 
that  morning  as  gifts. 

He  was  touched,  whether  by  the 
irony  of  it,  which  was  enough  to  make 
him  pity  himself,  or  by  pity  for  the 
beasts,  he  could  not  have  told. 

He  noticed  the  young  elephant, 
tethered  by  its  leg  to  a  tree,  and  per- 
iodically making  mighty  efforts  to  tear 
itself  free;  the  lion,  which  had  looked 
into  his  eyes  that  morning  from  its 
wooden  cage  and  which  was  clawing 
and  biting  now  at  its  bars  with  the 
pitiful  patience  of  all  dumb  creatures. 

For  the  time  being  Aim  forgot 
everything  eke.  Then  he  laughed,  not 
mirthfully. 

"  Am  I  not  the  liberator?  "  he  cried 
softly. 

He  ran  toward  the  elephant.  It 
swung  at  him  with  its  trunk,  but  Abu 
showed  no  fear.    He  spoke  aloud. 

"Behold,  even  as  I  freed  myself!" 

The  thongs  that  bound  the  elephant's 
leg  were  held  by  a  toggle.  Abu 
knocked  this  free,  and  the  elephant 
slowly  lifted  its  foot  from  the  loop.  Tt 
essayed  a  step.  It  swung  its  huge  bulk 
forward  at  a  trot. 

Before  it  -had  plunged  into  the  jun- 
gle. Abu  was  already  working  loose 
the  pegs  that  held  the  bars  of  the  lion's 
cage  in  place.  The  lion  sparred  at 
him,  kept  up  a  purring  growl.  Abu 


scarcely  noticed.  He  jerked  loose  two 
of  the  bars  at  once. 

There  was  a  yellow  flash,  and  the 
lion  was  crouched  on  the  earth  in  fr.ont 
of  him. 

It  looked  up  at  him.  complaining, 
lifted  an  armed  paw. 

Fly  to  your  mate,  and  let  naught 
hinder  you,"  said  Abu.  as  he  swung 
his  whip. 

The  lion  was  gone. 

He  freed  the  tame  leopard  with  the 
collar  about  its  neck.  He  liberated  a 
cage  of  apes.  He  addressed  the  fright- 
ened cattle,  telling  them  to  remain  near 
the  fire  until  their  enemies  were  safe 
away. 

Then  he  thought  again  of  the  quest 
that  had  brought  him  out,  and  he 
plunged  into  the  nearest  path  that  led 
down  the  Mamangno's  side. 

He  came  plunging  into  a  horde  of 
struggling  men.  and  he  could  not  tell 
whether  they  were  enemies  or  friends; 
but  he  struck  about  him  with  his  whip 
and  shouted  that  peace  had  come  and 
that  there  should  be  no  more  fighting. 

He  was  in  a  din  of  shouting,  some 
of  which  he  understood. 

"  It  is  a  genie !  " 

"It  is  the  Sasabonsuiii '  " 

In  the  midst  of  the  tumult,  he  struck 
something  with  his  foot.  He  reached 
down  and  found  a  clotli  twisted  around 
a  jangling  weight,  and  he  knew  thai 
he  had  recovered  a  portion  of  the 
wealth  that  had  been  taken  from  die 
tent.  Without  thought,  he  clung  to  it. 
He  still  had  it  when  he  emerged  on 
the  beach. 

The  night  was  starlit. 

The  breath  that  came  into  him  from 
the  blue-black  sea  brought  with  it  a 
surge  of  feeling  that  was  almost  joy. 

Far  out  he  saw  the  lights  of  a  ship, 
and  knew  instinctively  that  this  was 
the  warship  that  had  been  there  earlier 
in  the  night — quiet  now.  as  if  in  wait- 
ing— for  what? 

I  (have  a  greater  power  than 
yours."  he  said,  addressing  it.  "  Have 
you  a  heart?  Have  you  a  soul?  Have 
you  a  hope?  " 


734 


ALL-STORY  WEEKLY. 


He  might  have  said  more,  but  he 
saw,  emerging  from  the  nearer  dark- 
ness die  ghostly  shape  of  one  of  the 
Arab  dhows.  At  the  same  moment  he 
caught  the  thud  of  hoofs,  and.  by  some 
peculiarity  he  liad  noticed  subcon- 
sciously on  the  ride  from  Zemballa,  he 
knew  that  it  was  the  horse  that  Ren- 
nyvo  had  ridden  then. 

Rennyvo  he  intercepted,  hailed,  and 
the  Hova  slipped  from  his  horse  and 
embraced  him. 

"  The  road  to  Zemballa."  he  panted. 
"  is  cut  at  the  marsh,  held  by  a  force 
from  the  warship.  Zemballa  is  be- 
trayed; Scfu  a  prisoner.  O  Dawn- 
Maker,  you  are  still  my  master,  but  let 
me  command!  Our  dream  is  ended. 
Flee  with  me  to  Madagascar!  " 

There  was  a  splash  and  they  both 
turned  to  look  in  the  direction  of  the 
dhow.  Some  one  had  jumped  over- 
board. 

Rennyvo  leaped  forward  before  Abu 
could  detain  him,  drew  a  revolver, 
cried  a  challenge. 

"  I  seek  the  Dawn-Maker."  cried  the 
•man  in  the  water.  "  I  come  from  my 
lord  Abdallah." 

He  floundered  ashore,  Rennyvo  giv- 
ing him  a  helping  hand. 

"  What  is  the  word  from  my  Abdal- 
lah? "  asked  Abu. 

The  man  peered  at  him  through  the 
darkness,  would  have  fallen  on  his 
face,  but  Rennyvo  and  Abu  both  held 
him  up. 

"You  are  the  Dawn-Maker?" 

"Yes,  and  Abdallah?" 

"  We  were  up  the  coast,  above  Zcna. 
when  we  heard  the  news,  and  as  fast 
as  the  breeze  would  bring  us  we  hast- 
ened to  your  aid.  The  wind  died  out. 
Abdallah  towed  us  with  his  ship  of 
ir«.n.  Afterward  we  rowed.  His  only 
thought  was  to  keep  the  enemy's  war- 
ship from  attacking  you — 'his  only 
thought  has  been  of  you — and  now,  to 
think — * 

"Quick,  my  Abdallah!"  cried  Abu. 
"  We  picked  him  up  from  the  water, 
after  his  ship  was  blown  to  pieces — w 
"  Was  he  hurt?  " 


M  He  was  dying — he  is  dead." 
"O  Abdallah!" 

u  J  lis  last  words  were  of  you.  He 
charged  me  to  come  and  save  you. 
When  I  promised,  he  said  that  he  died 
happy,  for  he  knew  you  would  forgive 
him,  find  some  one  to  take  his  place." 

"Sweet  Abdallah!  You'll  be  my 
captain  when  I  cruise  the  stars.  Ren- 
nyvo, you  and  this  brave  comrade  sail 
away  while  yet  there's  time.  Here — 
oh,  here — -is  enough  <o  enrich  both  him 
and  you —  " 

Htfi  thrust  the  cloth  with  the  treasure 
in  it  into  Rennyvo's  hand,  but  both  the 
Hova  and  the  man  of  the  sea  cried  out 
that  they  would  never  leave  him. 

"  I  command  you!  "  said  Abu.  "Am 
I  not  the  Dawn-Maker?  My  escape  is 
planned,  I  prepare  a  mystery.  Go! 
Go  with  my  blessing !  " 

"They  will  kill  vou."  said  the  sailor. 

"I  shall  live." 

"You  will  appear  again?"  cried 
Rennyvo,  wonderingly. 

"  Yea.  each  time  you  dream." 

Abu  laughed.  Then  he  kissed  each 
of  these  two  murderous,  devoted  ideal- 
ists on  the  forehead,  thrust  them 
toward  the  water,  sprang  toward  Ren- 
nyvo's horse,  and,  in  a  moment  was  on 
its  back. 

The  horse  plunged  into  the  darkness 
of  the  beach  in  the  direction  of  Zena. 

They  passed  several  figures  who 
tired  after  them. 

Two  hundred  yards  past  the  last 
slope  of  the  Mamangno  they  charged 
into  a  sudden  sheet  of  flame,  and  it 
was  as  if  the  horse  had  taken  wings, 
■it  was  leaping  SO  high  and  far. 

But  Abu  understood,  and  was  ready 
when  it  fell. 

Dismounting  he  charged  into  the 
company  that  had  fired,  slashing  with 
his  whip,  fighting  as  he  had  fought 
that  other  night  when  he  freed  himself 
forever — as  much  as  any  man  can  be 
free.  Before  the  enemy  could  recover 
themselves  from  his  onslaught,  almost 
before  they  had  realized  what  had  hap- 
pened, he  was  well  off  into  the  dark- 
ness along  -the  beach  again. 


ABU.  THE  DAWN-MAKER. 


735 


He  paused. 

He  had  started  out  lor  Al-Mar- 
wazi's  'house  as  the  most  likely  place 
for  Kbadija  to  have  sought  a  retreat, 
acting  as  she  had  done,  no  doubt,  with 
the  cognizance  and  aid  of  Kula.  But, 
suddenly,  he  knew  that  she  was  no 
longer  there. 

Where  was  she? 

He  lifted  the  Double  -  Eye  once 
more  above  his  head,  and  looked  up. 

w  I  asked  you,"  he  averred. 

Over  toward  the  back  of  the  Ma- 
mangno.  across  the  marshy  jungle, 
there  came  the  sound  of  scattered 
firing. 

"Your  answer?"  he  asked. 

The  Double- Eye  seemed  to  twist 
his  arm,  while  a  spasm  of  fierce  joy 
swept  into  his  heart.  The  Double-Eye 
had  answered  him! 

He  plunged  into  a  path  he  had 
known  ever  since  his  boyhood.  He 
was  running  as  swiftly  and  securely 
as  that  young  lion  he  had  released  a 
little  while  ago  must  be  running  now. 

He  ran  into  an  Arab  patrol,  there 
to  head  the  Dawn- Maker  off  if  he  at- 
tempted to  escape.  In  the  midst  of 
them,  as  dim  as  a  wraith  of  vapor  in 
a  cave,  he  saw  her  for  whom  be 
sought. 

Without  a  word,  with  scarcely  a 
sound,  he  charged. 

CHAPTER  XLI. 
"  So  Endeth  Empire! 

NOT    until    he    had    struck  once, 
twice,  thrice,   with   such  brutal 
force    that    the    terrible  whip 
might  as  well  have  been  a  simitar,  did 
he  utter  a  word,  and  then  it  was  to 
Khadija : 

"Run!  Run!   I  shall  follow  you!" 

But,  instead  of  running.  Khadija 
snatched  a  rifle  from  one  of  the  reel- 
ing men  and  fired  it  twice  without 
lifting  it  at  two  rearing  shadows  to 
the  left. 

A  moment  later  she  was  swept 
from  her  feet,  swooning,  weak,  and 


Abu  was  leaping  forward  with  her  to 
his  arms. 

He  crouched  and  was  off  the  path 
as  a  ripping  fusillar'  came  hurtling 
after  them.  "He  made  his  way  care- 
fully along  a  fallen  log  in  darkness 
that  would  have  made  the  road  im- 
possible to  one  bred  to  a  different 
school ;  again  found  solid  ground. 

He  went  along  for  a  while  as 
stealthily  as  a  man-eating  tiger  ap- 
proaches a  village.  Not  even  a  dog 
could  have  heard  him.  There  was  no 
dashing  recklessness  now.  He  had 
Khadija  to  protect. 

He  held  her  close.  She  reached  up 
and  put  her  arms  about  his  neck.  He 
knelt  with  her  for  a  moment,  pressed 
his  lips  to  hers,  while  his  heart 
pounded. 

"  Let  me  walk,"  she  whispered. 
"  O  Abu,  I  have  found  thee !  " 

Not  more  than  ten  yards  away  was 
the  report  of  another  rifle.  The  line 
was  drawing  close.  They  were  within 
that  line. 

There  was  no  outlet  by  the  beach. 
To  escape  through  the  jungly  swamp 
on  either  side  of  the  Mamangno  ex- 
cept by  the  paths  would  have  been 
well-nigh  impossible,  even  had  Abu 
been  alone.  With  Khadija  it  was 
altogether  impossible. 

It  was  increasingly  clear  that  the 
cordon  had  been  tightly  drawn  across 
the  back  of  the  old  fortress.  There 
also  he  could  have  fought  his  way 
through  had  he  only  himself  to  look 
out  for. 

He  got  away  from  the  danger-zone 
as  rapidly  as  possible,  and  was  well 
up  the  slope  of  the  Mamangno  before 
he  paused  again. 

There  he  knelt  again  to  rest.  t<> 
catch  his  breath,  to  think,  to  speak. 
They  were  on  a  path  that  only  he 
could  see.  Khadija  crouched  on  the 
ground,  and  huddled  close  into  his 
arms  like  a  frightened  child. 

"  I  came  to  find  thee,"  she  whis- 
pered.   "Now  we  are  together!" 

"  I  must  give  you  up,"  said  Abu ; 
then  held  his  breath  for  her  answer. 


736 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


No  answer  came.  His  hand  stole 
softly  to  her  face,  Tt  was  as  he  sus- 
pected.   There  were  tears. 

He  pressed  her  to  him  tenderly. 
He  would  have  kissed  'her  again,  but 
he  did  liot  dare.  He  wanted  to  keep 
his  head  cool.  He  was  trying  bo  think, 
trying  to  see  clearly,  as  he  had  done 
so  often  before  in  his  lire. 

It  wasn't  death  that  frightened 
him.  not  in  the  least.  He  would  have 
charged  his  enemies  again  as  gladly 
as  he  had  a  little  while  ago,  and 
broken  through  the  lines. 

What  frightened  him  was  the  mem- 
-rv  of  what  he  had  seen  back  there 
on  the  path  through  the  swamp,  Kha- 
dija  an  East-Coast  prisoner.  It  made 
him  sick. 

What  if  he  hadn't  found  her?  What 
if  the  Double-Eye  had  not  led  him  to 
the  place  where  she  was?  What  if  he 
had  been  killed  too  soon? 

Khadija  was  whispering  to  him, 
but  his  thought  had  been  so  intense 
that  at  first  he  did  not  get  the  purport 
of  what  she  was  saying. 

" — because  life  without  thee  would 
not  be  life.  So  I  left  Al-Marwazi's 
house  and  crept  out  along  the  beach: 
but  saw  other  armed  men  who  talked 
of  slaying  thee,  and  then  I  took  the 
path  to  the  right  —  and  there  saw 
other  men.  I  sought  to  pass  them.  I 
ran.  They  fired.  Still  other  men  ap- 
peared in  front  of  me — " 

-  My  Khadija!" 

"  My  heart  cried  out  to  thee.  'Twas 
all  I  asked — thou  and  death!  And 
now  thou  savest  thou  must  give  me 
up!" 

"  It  was  on  vour  account! " 
"  Abu ! " 
"  Say  on." 

"  What  saidst  thou  about  the  Door 
of  Death?  Abu,  thy  Khadija  sought 
to  pray.  She  asked  that  she  l>e  not 
left  in  darkness  when  thou  passest 
through;  that  she  grope  not  for  thy 
hand  in  vain;  that  she  call  thee  not 
in  loneliness  and  silence.  Abu,  the 
night  waneth.  Perchance  our  door 
shall  open  with  the  dawn." 


Abu  kissed  her  again,  and  he  was 
flooded  with  such  mad  joy  as  he  had 
never  known  before. 

He  arose  and  gathered  her  up  in 
his  arms  again.  He  stood  there,  peer- 
ing for  a  moment  straight  ahead. 

He  "saw  a  dim  shape,  the  sheen  of 
two  eyes,  heard  the  breathing  of  a 
lion.    Silently  he  said  : 

"  Von  are  hungry,  but  I  am  he  who 
set  you  free." 

As  silently  as  it  had  appeared,  the 
lion  was  gone  again. 

Abu  went  slowly  now,  as  one  who 
performs  some  sacred  rite. 

It  was  a  rite. 

He  was  bringing  back  his  bride  to 
his  mother's  house.  So  his  heart 
sang,  for  his  heart  was  unburdened 
as  it  had  not  been  since  the  night  that 
the  breath  of  Allah  blew  Khadija's 
hair  against  his  face. 

He  had  asked  the  Mother  of  the 
World  for  peace.  His  prayer  was 
answered ! 

They  came  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  to 
the  edge  of  the  cleared  space,  and 
there  Abu  put  Khadija  down.  She 
stood  at  his  side  w  ith  her  arm  around 
him.    She  looked  up  at  him. 

"Oh,  Abu."  she  thrilled  softly, 
we  are  home!  " 

Home ! 

The  word  smote  his  heart,  brought 
a  lump  to  his  throat,  and  rilled  him 
with  such  intense  joy  that  there  was 
a  pain, in  his  chest. 

The  place  was  deserted  as  when  he 
left  it.  Only  the  cattle  were  still 
there,  and  they  mooed  and  moaned  a 
welcome,  for  they  knew  that  the  lion 
was  lurking  about ;  and  they  were 
glad  to  see  this  man  and  woman  who. 
for  them,  were  as  gods  no  doubt. 

But  the  gold  tent  of  the  Dawn- 
Maker  was  still  there  under  the  cala- 
bash-tree, and  the  lesser  tent  at  its 
side.  The  tire  was  dying  down,  but 
it  still  cast  a  red  glow  over  every- 
thing. 

ft  cast  a  red  glow  over  tfie  deserted 
throne-chair  that  had  been  brought 
up  from  Al-Marwazi's  house. 


ABU,  THE  DAWN-MAKER. 


737 


Abu  pressed  Khadija  to  his  side. 

"  Throne,"  he  said,  "  you  have  em- 
braced how  many  men?  Were  they 
happier  for  that?  Was  the  world 
gladder?  You  have  led  a  harlot  life!  " 

He  smiled  down  at  Khadija.  He 
was  pleased  with  his  fancy.  So  was 
she. 

M  Burn  it,"  she  said.  "  We'll  offer 
it  up  as  a  sacrifice." 

"O-ho!"  cried  Abu;  "that  all 
thrones  could  be  burned  as  a  sacri- 
fice!" 

He  seized  it  and  dragged  it  for- 
ward. It  must  have  weighed  two  hun- 
dred pounds,  but  he  picked  it  up  and 
cast  it  to  the  center  of  the  fiery  heap. 

There  was  a  curl  of  yellow  smoke 
that  instantly  grew  in  volume;  the 
Hames  caught,  and  the  throne  began 
to  blaze. 

They  watched  it,  fascinated. 

"  See  how  the  flames  leap  upward," 
said  Khadija;  "  as  if  they  were  glad! ' 

"  Thejr  are  glad  because  they  go 
upward,"  said  Abu. 

"  We  are  flames,"  said  Khadija. 

"Of  the  one  fi/e,"*said  Abu. 

"  So  also  shall  we  be  glad." 

She  smiled  up  at  him,  weirdly  and 
tenderly,  with  the  firelight  on  her  face. 

"  Yea!  "  whispered  Abu;  "  so  ends 
empire,  so  begins  life." 

They  passed  through  the  door  of 
the  tent. 

CHAPTER  XLII. 
On  the  Mamangno's  Bosom. 

THERE  was  but  little  change  ap- 
parent in  the  interior  of  the  tent. 
The  lamps  that  had  been  lighted 
earlier  in  the  night  were  still  burning. 
The  curtains  hung  in  place.  Through 
the  raised  partition  walls  was  Kha- 
dija's  divan  with  its  tumbled  cushions. 

Inanimate  objects  have  a  way  of 
speaking  their  indifference  to  human 
change. 

Khadija  and  Abu  paused  just  in- 
side the  door  and  looked  about  them. 
"I  thirst,"  said  Abu;  "and  you?" 

II  A-S 


14  Thou  art  my  husband ! "  cried 
Khadija,  like  a  child  who  proposes  a 
game;  "and  thou  hast  just  returned 
from  thy  w  ork  ■  and  I — I  am  thy  wife 
who  hasteneth  to  prepare  thv  sup- 
per!" 

"Nay!"  cried  Abu.  "You  are  the 
bride,  and  I  am  the  bridegroom;  and 
you  command  the  wedding-feast." 

He  kissed  her,  and  she  ran  away. 

He  looked  back  through  the  door 
of  the  tent.    It  was  almost  dawn. 

On  the  floor  of  the  tent  he  found 
two  things  that  had  been  overlooked 
by  the  looters  in  their  haste  and  ex- 
citement. One  of  diese  was  an  an- 
tique ring.  The  other  was  a  bracelet, 
likewise  of  antique  workmanship. 

He  looked  at  them  curiously,  and 
was  about  to  toss  them  to  one  side, 
when  Khadija  returned. 

She  carried  an  earthenware  jug 
and  a  painted  cup. 

"  Fami  hid  this — palm-wine  of  the 
best  —  to  quench  thy  thirst  and  to 
bring  thee  back  thv  strength.  W  hat 
hast  thou  there?  Rest,  sweet  Abu. 
Sit  down  besjfle  me  here  on  the  divan." 

"  Your  wedding  present,  my  Kha- 
dija. See,  the  ring  of  some  long-dead 
princess;  the  bracelet  of  some  old 
king." 

They  were  seated  side  by  side  on 
the  edge  of  the  low  divan.  Abu  took 
Khadija's  hand  and  kissed  it.  and 
slipped  the  ring  on  her  thumb. 

"Poor  little  princess!"  Khadija 
sighed.  "  Even  if  thou  wert  a  prin- 
cess thou  must  have  loved  and  suf- 
fered and  wept,  and  had  thine  hour 
of  almost  killing,  maddening  happi- 
ness, even  as  I!  Nay,  nay!  Not  the 
bracelet.  That  was  the  king's.  Give 
it  to  me,  Abu.    Now,  it  is  mine?  " 

She  had  taken  the  bracelet,  and 
was  pressing  his  arm  against  her 
breast,  as  if  she  asked  a  gift  that  he 
might  refuse. 

-All  yours,  my  goddess  -  bride !  " 

said  Abu. 

"  Then  see!  "  She  began  to  fasten 
it  about  his  wrist.  "  Then  I  give  it 
to  thee.  Say  that  thou  wilt  never  part 


738 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


with  it;  that  it  is  thine;  that  it  is  a 
gift  from  thy  Khadija!" 

"  I  say  all  of  that,  and  also  that  I 
love  you  as  no  man  ever  loved  woman; 
as  Allah  loved  A  Hat  and  thus  brought 
love  into  the  world." 

"Oh,  Abu.  I  let  thee  thirst  1" 

"  You  are  my  lite-giver." 

*'  I  love  thee  so!" 

"  Love  gives  lite  !  " 

"  More  than  vows — " 

*•  Love  is  the  universal  vow," 
thrilled  Abu.  "  Keq>  that,  and  all 
•  »ther  vows  are  vain.  Give  me  the 
cup.    Nay.  hold  it  to  my  lips." 

Into  the  silence  that  fell  upon  them 
there  came  the  sound  of  a  bird-song. 
They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes. 
They  recognized  it.  They  had  heard 
it  together  on  the  shore.  It  announced 
the  coming  of  the  day. 

"  Yea.  Khadija."  Abu  whispered, 
"  thus  begins  life." 

•'  Thou  art  the  Maker  of  the 
Dawn."  Khadija  answered. 

He  put  his  arms  about  her. 

The  bird  sang  again.  There  came 
the  chirp  and  twitter  of  other  birds. 
The  cattle  lowed,  for  they  were 
thirsty,  and  soon  they  could  go  down 
from  the  hill  to  drink. 

u  Hast  thou  not  made  the  dawn 
for  me  and  thee?"  Khadija  whis- 
pered tenderly,  her  breath  on  his  face. 
u  O  Aim.  is  not  this  the  Dawn  of 
Creation,  with  a  new  paradise  swim- 
ming out  of  the  darkness,  and  only 
one  man  and  one  woman  in  it  ?  " 

"  You  are  the  Dawn-Maker,  not 
I,"  Abu  answered  with  a  straining 
heart.  "  See.  tor  thirty  years  I  exist- 
ed. For  these  thirty  minutes  have  I 
lived.  Oh.  now  1  know  why  they  call 
Allah  the  Compassionate!" 

For  a  period  the  earth  seemed  to 
have  been  engulfed  in  an  atmosphere 
so  tine  that  it  vibrated  and  sang  to  the 
music  of  the  universe,  responded  to 
no  other  sound.  Time  stood  still,  or 
sped  over  centuries  and  eons. 

It  was  the  Dawn  in  Cosmos  to 
which  they  had  each  referred.  De- 
struction   and    sudden    death  beset 


them  on  every  side,  and  yet  they  were 
as  unconscious  of  these  things  as  if 
they  had  Urn  moats  dancing  in  a 
sunbeam — as  perhaps  they  were. 

Yet  the  night  was  fading.  The 
Mamangno.  as  if  regretfully,  was 
getting  up  from  a  bed  of  mist. 

The  Arabs,  Portuguese,  and  British 
— the  latter  l>eing  the  eternal  law-giv- 
ers in  these  regions — had  drawn  their 
cordon  tighter  and  tighter  around  the 
Mother  of  the  World.  All  of  her 
children  who  would  had  been  permit- 
ted to  escape — all  save  this  last  one, 
who  was  there  now  with  this  bride  of 
his.  Clever  Arab  scouts,  as  stealthy 
as  tigers  and  as  cogent  as  hate,  had 
made  themselves  as  certain  of  this  as 
they  could  be. 

But  when  Captain  Berwind  of  the 
Vanity  learned  that  the  camp  was 
still  standing  he  decided  to  try  the 
place  out  with  a  shell  or  two  before 
undertaking  the  final  charge* 

"  I  thought  of  you."  Abu  whis- 
pered. «  w  hen  I  told  them  that  the 
other  word  for  Dawn  was  Love." 

There  came  a  shaking  detonation 
from  the  east,  an  eery  roar,  the  thun- 
derous shock  of  an  exploding  shell. 

Khadija  let  out  a  quavering  little 
cry. 

"  They  kill  thee !  " 

"  They  cannot  kill  me,"  Abu  an- 
swered. "  Like  this  we'll  live  for- 
ever." 

He  strained  her  to  his  breast,  and 
lifted  his  head. 

The  stampeding  cattle  were  rushing 
past.  A  second  shell  fell  and  exploded 
closer  than  the  first.  The  war  -  ship 
was  getting  the  range. 

"  Shall  we  flee,  Khadija?" 

He  asked  it.  although  he  knew 
there  was  little  hope. 

"Nay,  nay!"  she  answered  with 
joy.  "  We  stand  together  at  the 
door." 

The  second  shell,  or  the  third,  must 
have  found  the  fire  and  sent  its  em- 
bers against  the  front  of  the  tent,  for 
it  began  to  burn.    It  flamed  up  eager- 


ABU,  THE  DAWN-MAKER. 


739 


ly.  as  if  it  also  were  through  with 
earth,  glad  to  go.  Abu  staggered  to 
his  feet,  and  still  held  Khadija  close. 

There  was  a  cessation  of  the  bom- 
bardment, while  the  tire  burned 
brightly  and  more  brightly  still,  and 
they  could  look  out  through  the  drop- 
ping curtains  to  the  jungle-fringe,  to 
the  red  -  and  -  purple  sea,  the  rising 
glory  of  the  sun,  and,  in  the  midst  of 
it  all.  man's  instrument  of  destruc- 
tion, the  dim,  gray  cruiser. 

The  sun  sent  its  light  in  upon  them, 
and  clothed  them  with  its  warmth. 

"  Our  dawn,"  said  Khadija. 

"  The  eternal  dawn !  " 

He  pressed  his  lips  to  hers. 

Time  ceased  to  exist  for  them. 
They  seemed  to  be  on  the  threshold 
of  infinity  at  last. 

Then  with  one  accord  they  were 
speeding  together  down  the  flank  of 
the  Mamangno.  It  was  as  if  the  sun 
had  brought  them  another  sort  of 
light  than  that  which  it  brought  to 
the  rest  of  the  world.  It  was  as  if  in 
response  to  their  supreme  prayers  and 
their  supreme  faith  they  had  been 
granted  a  vision. 

Somewhere  near  the  toot  of  the 
hill  they  encountered  a  squad  of  Brit- 
ish marines,  immaculate  and  white,  in 
charge  of  a  young  lieutenant.  And 
the  lieutenant  stared  at  them  curious- 
ly, murmured  the  one  magical  word. 
■  White."  and  let  them  pass. 

They  came  out  on  the  golden  beach 
in  the  almost  blinding  light  of  the 
rising  sun.    Dawn  indeed! 

(The 


They  were  hailed  by  a  voice  they 
recognized,  and  they  saw  Rennyvo 
rushing  upon  them. 

"The  dhow  awaits  you!"  cried 
Rennyvo.  "  We  couldn't  go  away 
without  you.  Glory  to  the  Name  of 
the  Most  High !  Glory  to  the  Maker 
of  the  Dawn  and  to  his  chosen  bride !" 

They  steered  to  the  east,  with  the 
whole  visible  world  above  and  about 
them  "  enameled  in  fire."  Abu  and 
Khadija  were  in  the  bow  of  the  boat, 
their  arms  about  each  other. 

"Yea,  God!"  whispered  Abu. 
"  This  is  empire.  Thou  hast  given 
me  liberty.  Thou  hast  given  me  love. 
Thou  hast  given  me  sorrow.  Brother, 
you  also  will  see  it — the  Dawn  of 
Dawns — the  Sunrise  of  the  Soul!" 

There  are  stories  on  the  East  Coast, 
stories  current  among  the  people  that 
will  be  handed  down  for  generations, 
perhaps  to  pave  the  way  for  some 
new  prophet  in  ages  to  come.  They 
tell  of  Abu,  the  Dawn- Maker,  of  h'\< 
humble  origin,  his  conquests,  his  say- 
ings, his  miracles. 

And  greatest  of  all  the  miracles  that 
are  recounted  of  him  is  that  of  how 
Abu.  surrounded  by  his  enemies,  fired 
upon  by  the  white  men's  war-ship, 
was  snatched  bodily  to  paradise  from 
Mamangno.  Mother  of  the  World, 
together  w  ith  the  woman  who  clung 
to  him  in  the  face  of  death. 

And  Abu.  in  his  wonderful  new 
world  with  Khadija  beside  him,  would 
perhaps  admit  its  truth. 

end.) 


XJ 


SAFETY  FIRST 

BY   WALTER   G.  DOTY 


WHEN  babies  start  to  cry, 
The  women  standing  by 
With  one  accord  begin 
A  still  hunt  for  the  pin. 
It  seems,  at  such  outburst, 
The  motto's:   Safety  First. 


BeJ  Blood 
.and  j^kie 

^  Fletcher  Chenault 


"Y  partner  had  heartlessly  de- 
serted me  to  consort  with  a 
sallow  -  complected  youth, 
and  I  had  paused  in  a  door- 
way to  watch  the  dancers 
whirl  by  and  listen  to  the 
music. 

It  was  then  that  I  looked  up  sudden- 
ly, to  behold  old  Dr.  Bertram!  tread- 
ing his  wav  toward  me  and  to  tear  the 

worst. 

Sure  enough,  the  old  sawbones 
hove  to  alongside  and  buttonholed  me. 
to  resume  an  argument  that  T  supposed 
had  been  settled — if  not  to  his  satisfac- 
tion, at  least  to  mine. 

"  But,  sir,"  he  wheezed  with  pom- 
pous dignity.  "  blood  mill  tell.  I  say ! 
If  this  conceited  upstart  —  this  un- 
couth farmer — dares  show  his  face 
here  to-night  he  will  be  ruined,  world 
without  end.  politically.  And  bless 
your  sweet  life,  he  knows  it!  " 

"  Dare  is  hardly  the  word,  doctor." 
I  objected,  shaking  my  head.  "  Re- 
member that  I  have  seen  Sheriff  Boyd 
put  to  the  test.  If  he  fails  to  show  up 
here  to-night  it  will  not  be  because  of 
Rupert  nor  Major  Ware.  All  that  can 
keep  him  back  will  l>e  respect  for  the 
occasion." 

I  flung  my  arm  out  in  a  gesture  that 
included  the  dancers  in  the  hall,  the 
senile  gossipers  in  the  big  room  across 
the  hall  —  even  the  dusky  musicians 
screened  behind  palms. 


"  Times  have  changed."  I  reminded 
the  old  aristocrat.  He  had  singled  me 
out  as  a  target  for  his  wrath,  it  seemed 
— no  doubt  because  he  knew  that  Sher- 
iff Boyd  was  my  old  schoolmate  and 
boyhood  friend.  u  A  great  moral 
wave  is  sweeping  the  country.  But 
that  is  not  the  point,  doctor.  The 
point  is  that  a  sheriff — any  sheriff — 
who  fails  to  enforce  the  law  as  he 
finds  it  is  not  a  capable  official." 

"  But  pokcr-playiny!  "  Dr.  Bertrand 
exclaimed  —  one  might  have  supposed 
that  he  had  mentioned  the  most  honor- 
able occupation  in  the  world.  a  Who- 
ever heard  of  a  man  being  arrested  in 
this  county  for  playing  poker?  " 

"  Poker-playing  has  descended  to  a 
lower  level  since  the  days  of  the  '  gen- 
tleman's game.'  "  I  argued.  "  But 
poker  -  playing,  forgery,  or  horse- 
racing — it's  all  one  to  the  majesty  of 
law.    A  sheriff — " 

I  had  other  sound  and  reasonable 
arguments  in  mind,  but  was  not  given 
an  opportunity  to  present  them.  A 
commotion  near  the  front  door  arrest- 
ed my  attention. 

Those  who  stood  nearest  the  en- 
trance were  greeting  a  newcomer,  a 
man  whose  broad-brimmed  black  hat 
floated  above  the  swaying  dancers  like 
the  head-dress  of  a  giant  Jesuit. 

Our  question  was  answered;  the 
sheriff  had  come! 

I  turned  on  Dr.  Bertrand  with  a 


740 


BAD  BLOOD  AND  BLUE. 


741 


cynical  smile — a  smile,  however,  that 
escaped  his  attention.  He,  too,  had 
seen  the  big  felt  hat  with  the  wide 
brim,  and  the  pale,  serious  face  of 
Jerry  Boyd  beneath  it. 

For  a  moment  my  old  friend — for 
Dr.  Bertrand  was  an  old  friend,  too — 
was  swept  off  his  feet,  so  to  speak,  by 
the  turn  of  events. 

"  Well.  I'll  be  —  jiggered!  "  he 
wheezed  in  a  tone  almost  as  emphatic 
as  profanity. 

Down  the  long  dance-hall  came 
Jerry  Boyd,  keeping  well  out  of  the 
circle  of  vvaltzers  and  glancing  about 
sharply. 

I  supposed  he  was  seeking  young 
Rupert  Ware,  but  found  that  I  was 
mistaken. 

As  Boyd  came  down  the  hall  he  in- 
quired for  Major  Ware;  and  having 
found  and  addressed  the  major,  the 
two  of  them  came  toward  the  door  of 
the  smoking-room  where  we  were 
standing,  Major  Ware  in  the  lead. 

Trouble  of  some  kind  was  brewing 
on  Riverside  Plantation. 

I  knew  it.  and  old  Dr.  Bertrand 
knew  it,  and  the  tall  young  sheriff 
knew  it  better  than  either  of  us,  al- 
though to  my  mind  he  was  more  tran- 
quil than  any  of  our  bidden  guests. 
But  he  knew  the  Wares,  an  excitable, 
quick-tempered  *  breed  —  men  and 
women. 

It  he  didn*t  know  them,  he  was  to 
learn  something  of  their  fiery  nature 
when  he  came  face  to  face  with  Helen 
Ware  on  the  edge  of  the  circle  of 
merry-makers. 

Short,  hot  words  passed  between 
them,  the  rapid  speech  of  rufllcd  tem- 
per; and  as  I  moved  a  step  nearer  I 
caught  a  fragment  of  the  girl's  mono- 
tone, which  reminded  me  of  the  buzz- 
ing of  an  angry  bee. 

" — And  if  you  humiliate  me  here 
before  my  guests,"  I  heard  her  warn 
him.  "  I  shall  never — " 

"  Never  speak  to  you  again,"  no 
doubt,  but  of  that  \  cannot  be  sure. 
The  sheriff  was  making  a  futile  effort 
to  explain. 


"  I'm  not  to  blame,  Helen."  he  whis- 
pered— every  word.  I  fancied,  falling 
on  unheeding  ears.  "  If  only  vou 
will—" 

A  sudden,  discordant  squawk  of  the 
bass  violin  drowned  his  words,  and 
before  the  heavy  notes  had  ebbed 
Helen  was  moving  majestically  down 
the  hall. 

Boyd  checked  himself  when  he  real- 
ized that  by  the  simple  expedient  of 
leaving  him  the  girl  had  contrived  to 
avoid  an  argument. 

His  face  was  a  flaming  red  as  he 
shouldered  his  way  through  the  door 
and  halted  expectantly  in  the  center  of 
the  smoking-room.  Certainly  he  could 
not  have  been  highly  pleased  with  the 
way  events  were  shaping  up,  for  the 
good  opinion  of  this  one  girl  meant 
more  to  him,  as  I  happened  to  know, 
than  the  good  opinion  of  all  the  other 
Wares  combined. 

I  followed  behind  the  sheriff  and 
saw  Major  Ware  circle  the  table,  for 
which  I  was  thankful,  and  turn  de- 
fiantly to  face  the  intruder. 

One  or  two  of  the  loungers,  under- 
standing that  the  interview  was  of  a 
private  nature,  rose  languidly  from 
their  seats  and  edged  toward  the  door. 
But  Major  Ware  halted  all  of  us  •w  nh 
upraised  hand. 

"And  now.  sir,'"  he  said,  turning  to 
Boyd  again,  "  what  can  I  do  for  you? 
I  understand  you  come  in  an  —  ah  — 
official  capacity." 

"  My  business  is  with  your  son — 
with  Rupert  Ware."  Boyd  rejoined 
briskly.  4i  I  thought  it  best — that  is, 
as  a  matter  of  courtesy,  Major  Ware. 
I  have  come  to  you  first.  No  doubt 
you  have  been  advised  that  I  have  a 
warrant  for  Rupert." 

"  Good  Heavens,  sir !  M  the  major 
exploded.  "  You're  all-fired  civil.  I 
must  say — breaking  in  on  a  dance  to 
serve  a  warrant !  You  thought  my  son 
would  run  away,  I  suppose — like  a 
thief  in  the  night?  " 

"  I  will  admit  that  I  had  reasons  to 
believe  your  son  might  try  to  escape." 
said  Boyd  gravely.    "  In  fact,  lit  sent 


742 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


me  word  that  he  intends  to  leave  the 
county  and  that  I  had  better  not  inter- 
fere. I  had  to  take  him  at  his  word, 
major.    I  did  not  intend  to  interrupt 

the  dance."' 

"  The  you  didn't !  "  roared  the 

major,  who  was  casting  about  for  a 
chance  to  shift  the  burden  of  fault. 
"  You  came  here  to  be  in  the  lime- 
light, didn't  you  —  to  advertise  this 
thing  from  one  end  of  the  county  to 
the  other? 

"  I  call  on  you  to  witness,  gentle- 
men "  —  he  indicated  our  little  group 
by  a  sweep  of  his  hand  —  "I  call  on 
you  to  witness  how  this  man  has  gone 
out  of  his  way  to  insult  me.  I  want 
you  to  observe  and  to  bear  in  mind 
what  I  have  to  say.  I  pledge  you  my 
word  this  man  will  never  again  be 
sheriff  of  Sheridan  County!  " 

The  major  flung  this  defiance  not  at 
the  silent  and  abashed  sheriff,  who 
stood  twirling  his  hat  on  his  fore- 
finger, but  at  the  half  dozen  of  us 
strung  about  the  room  in  awkward 
poses. 

I  supposed  all  of  us  realized  its  sig- 
nificance. For  Major  Ware,  when  he 
was  pleased  to  take  a  hand,  could 
make  himself  a  power  in  Sheridan 
County  politics. 

We  watched  the  two  men  as  they 
stood  and  surveyed  each  other  like 
cocks  in  a  pit,  the  major  glaring  fierce- 
ly, and  Boyd  returning  the  stare  with 
a  calmness  that  I  was  forced  to  ad- 
mire. Then  the  door  to  the  rear  porch 
Hew  open,  admitting  a  draft  of  fresh 
air,  and  with  it  young  Rupert  Ware 
himself,  red-faced  and  perspiring. 

I  for  one  noticed  that  the  boy  had 
been  drinking.  All  of  us  observed  the 
pistol  in  his  hand. 

Behind  us  the  rollicking  strains  of 
music  rose  and  fell  without  a  pause. 
The  door  stood  ajar,  but  the  dancers 
were  as  if  in  a  world  apart  from  the 
little  by-play  in  the  smoking-room. 
Only  two  of  the  young  people — Helen 
and  Natalie  Ware— knew  why  Sheriff 
Boyd  had  come  to  the  Riverside  dance. 

Rupert  held  his  pose  too  long  for  the 


startling  effect  he  had  planned,  but 
finally  he  spoke. 

"  Here  1  am,  Jerry  Boyd  —  why 
don't  you  take  me?"  he  blazed  out 
sneeringly.  "  You  say  you  have  a  war- 
rant for  me;  why  don't  you  serve  it?  " 

The  sheriff  met  Rupert's  defiant 
stare  without  flinching — a  cynical, 
tolerant  smile  masking  any  anger  he 
may  have  felt. 

"  You  have  the  advantage,  I  be- 
lieve." he  admitted.  "  I  supposed  you 
would  go  peaceably,  Rupert.  You  are 
a  man  of  good  family.  I — well,  the 
fact  is  I  haven't  a  gun." 

He  made  this  announcement  apolo- 
getically, certainly  without  the  faintest 
trace  of  anger;  yet  his  veiled  sarcasm 
stung  the  pampered  youth  to  the  quick. 

"  You  lie !  "  Rupert  cried,  his  thin, 
high-pitched  voice  rising  almost  to  a 
shriek.  "  You're  afraid  to  shoot  it  out 
with  me — that's  what!  You  haven't 
the  nerve  of  a — a  calf !  " 

Boyd  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
made  a  sudden  conciliatory  gesture 
with  outstretched  palms. 

"  Any  man  in  the  room  want  to 
search  me?"  he  suggested.  "I 
came  on  duty —  " 

"Don't  give  me  that  hang-dog 
spiel!  Clear  out  of  here.  Jerry  Boyd 
— and  don't  ever  come  back'." 

Boyd  glanced  at  the  major  for  con- 
firmation of  this  sullen  command. 

The  stern  old  planter  stared  back 
frigidly. 

I  saw  there  was  no  sympathy  for 
my  tall  friend  in  that  quarter,  and  I 
found  myself  sighing  as  it  came  home 
to  me  that  the  major  was  taking  a 
stand  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
against  law  and  order. 

Boyd  also  sighed. 

w I'll  go."  he  said,  "but  before  I 
go  I  want  to  warn  you  that  we  are 
going  to  serve  this  warrant  if  it  takes 
a  month.  I'll  bring  my  gun  next 
time,  if  you're  spoiling  for  a  fight." 

He  lifted  his  wide  black  hat  from 
the  table  and  placed  it  gently  on  his 
head.  Seeming  to  reconsider,  he  re- 
moved the  hat  and  stepped    back  a 


BAD  BLOOD  AND  BLUE. 


743 


pace,  still  facing  the  major  and  the 
latter's  irate  son. 

11  Major  Ware,"  he  began,  clearing 
his  throat  in  an  embarrassed  manner, 
"  You  are  a  citizen  of  some  standing 
in  the  community.  You  ought  to  use 
your  influence  to —  " 

"There's  the  door!"  the  major 
thundered.     "Good-night,  sir!" 

Boyd  smiled  grimly,  clapped  his  hat 
back  on  his  head,  bowed  profoundly, 
and  left  the  room. 

In  the  hall  he  met  Helen  Ware  on 
the  arm  of  a  perspiring  youth,  who 
begged  to  be  represented  on  her  pro- 
gram card  and  seemed  loathe  to  ac- 
cept no  for  an  answer. 

Boyd  removed  his  hat  again  and 
faced  the  major's  elder  daughter. 

"  I  just  wanted  to  tell  you —  "  he 
began  briskly,  and  paused. 

Without  deigning  to  notice  him  in 
the  least,  Helen  swept  down  the  hall 
on  the  arm  of  her  escort,  leaving  the 
sheriff  staring  after  her  in  some  con- 
fusion. 

We  were  to  take  the  boat  for  New 
Orleans  the  next  afternoon — Major 
Ware,  his  two  daughters.  Dr.  Bert- 
rand,  and  myself;  and  the  five  of  us 
were  grouped  at  the  Ware  landing 
when  the  Nancy  Lee  paused  at  the 
bank  with  throbbing  engines  to  take 
us  on  board. 

The  Ware  landing  was  an  adjunct 
to  the  Ware  plantation,  a  private 
landing  seldom  used,  and  a  few  boxes 
of  freight  were  piled  up  for  down- 
river points. 

Within  five  minutes  the  last  of 
these  boxes  had  been  hoisted  on  board 
and  the  captain  gave  the  signal  to 
cast  off. 

The  roustabouts  darted  down  the 
Stage  planks,  but  a  voice  from  high 
above  us  halted  them  at  the  stakes. 

"Hold  up!"  the  pilot  yelled  in  a 
deep-toned  river  accent. 

1  glanced  aloft  and  beheld  the  vet- 
eran riverman  framed  like  a  giant 
spider  behind  his  wheel.  He  was 
staring  across  the  fields  at  something 


screened  from  our  sight  by  the  sandy 
bluff. 

Two  minutes  later  a  horseman 
dashed  up  and  dismounted,  passed  his 
reins  to  a  negro,  ran  down  the  bank 
and  flung  himself  on  board. 

I  recognized  our  belated  passenger 
the  moment  he  came  into  view.  I 
recognized  him  by  his  tall,  well  knit 
frame  and  the  broad-brimmed  black- 
hat  he  wore;  but  why  Sheriff  Boyd 
had  decided  at  the  last  minute  to  fol- 
low our  party  was  beyond  my  com- 
prehension. 

"  You're  an  unexpected  guest,"  was 
my  greeting  when  he  had  trudged  up 
the  boiler  deck  stairs  and  joined  me — 
"  an  unwelcome  guest,  I  might  add. 
If  you're  looking  for  Rupert  Ware 
you're  on  a  cold  trail." 
•  Boyd  glanced  over  his  broad  shoul- 
der toward  the  ladies'  cabin,  and  I 
could  almost  read  his  thoughts. 
Helen  Wrare,  who  had  been  standing 
at  my  side,  had  retreated  in  that 
direction  the  moment  she  recognized 
her  whilom  lover — had  flown,  I  am 
tempted  to  say. 

Some  one  was  thrumming  on  the 
piano  in  the  cabin,  but  it  was  not 
Helen.  I  knew  whose  sly  fingers 
were  toying  with  the  ivory  keys,  and 
matching  them  with  a  perfect  white- 
ness. No  musical  instrument  could 
remain  at  peace  while  Natalie  Ware 
was  around. 

Boyd  sighed  as  he  turned  back  and 
watched  the  crew  cast  off. 

"  Not  so  cold,  perhaps,  as  you  im- 
agine," he  mused,  after  a  little. 
"  Your  brother-in-law-to-be  is  on  the 
boat." 

"Foiled  again!"  I  chuckled.  "I 
saw  every  man  who  stepped  on  board 
and  Rupert  was  not  among  those 
present.  You'd  better  back  up  and 
take  a  fresh  start." 

"  Do  vou  know  who  boarded  the 
Nancv  Lee  at  Ellis  Island?" 

"Oh.  that's  it!"  I  gasped.  "He 
caught  the  boat  at  Ellis  Island!" 

"  And  brought  along  his  body- 
guard— Joe  Hardin  and  Ad  Morris. 


744 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


I'm  going  to  take  the  three  of  them 
off  at  Bodfish  Landing.  Herbert.  I 
shall  try  them  single-handed,  but  I 
may  have  to  call  to  you    for  a  little 

help  before  it's  over." 

*•  Count  on  me."  I  boasted.  "  I've 
never  had  a  chance  to  put  my  com- 
mission as  a  deputy  to  any  practical 
use.  I  believe  you  appointed  me  just 
l>ecause  I  voted  for  you.  I'd  have 
taken  a  hand  last  night  it  you  had 
once  chirped." 

"Last  night?"  Boyd  laughed,  and 
instantly  became  serious  again.  "  I 
don't  like  for  that  boy  to  make  a  mon- 
key out  of  me  as  he  did  last  night." 

"  It's  the  first  time  I  have  ever  seen 
you  back  down  from  a  business  prop- 
osition Jerry.  But.  of  course.  I  un- 
derstand why.  You  couldn't  have 
dune  otherwise."  * 

Boyd  smiled,  a  grave,  mirthless 
smile. 

*'  You  don't  understand  at  all,"  he 
assured  me.  "  I'm  a  changed  man. 
Herbert.  I  picked  up  a  novel  at  a 
circulating  library  the  other  day — 
yni]  know  I've  never  had  much  edu- 
cation and  I've  been  reading  a  little. 
Well,  this  book  taught  me  a  lesson. 
Tt*>  called  '  The  Virginian  ' — per- 
haps you've  read  it.  That  Virginian 
was  true  blue;  he  was  metal  of  the 
right  sort. 

*'  There's  no  great  honor  or  glory 
in  going  around  with  a  chip  on  your 
shoulder.  The  bravest  man  is  not  al- 
ways a  loud  talker — like  that  man 
Trampas,  for  example." 

"  Better  tell  Dr.  Bert  rand  and 
Major  Ware  that.  They've  never 
given  you  credit  for  much  nerve.  I 
fancy." 

"  They  may  lie  nearer  right  than 
you  imagine.  I  was  a  little  like  Ru- 
pert myself  once,  but  I'm  older  now 
— much  older.  Nerve  is  not  t<>  be 
measured  by  the  length  of  a  six- 
shooter.  I  like  that  VWgimm.  He 
went  about  his  business  in  a  quiet 
way;  no  fuss  and  feathers,  but  when 
it  came  to  the  scratch  he  was  Johnny- 
on-the-spot." 


I  saw  Natalie  Ware  come  out  of 
the  ladies'  cabin.  She  paused  a  mo- 
ment on  her  way  to  the  texas  deck 
and  made  a  wry  grimace  at  Boyd's 

back. 

I  smiled  and  turned  again  to  the 

sheriff. 

"  You'd  better  be  careful  how  you 
go  at  Rupert."  I  warned  him. 

"  I  know  it.  What  that  boy  needs 
is  a  good  spanking,  and  he'll  get  it* 
some  day  But  there'll  be  no  shoot- 
ing. I'll  not  have  a  man's  blood — 
any  man's  blood — on  my  hands." 

He  paused  and  stared  again  toward 
the  cabin.  Major  Ware  and  Dr. 
Cert  rand  were  approaching  arm  in 
arm.  Each  swung  a  heavy  cane  in 
his  free  hand,  and  the  grayness  of 
the  doctor's  heavy  mustache  reflected 
the  major's  grizzly  goatee. 

I  was  satisfied  the  old  cronies  knew 
that  Sheriff  Boyd  was  on  board,  and 
that  Rupert  was  on  board,  too — cir- 
cumstances that  did  not  augur  well 
for  a  pleasant  voyage.  But  it  was 
obvious  that  they  had  determined  to 
ignore  the  sheriff  altogether,  for  they 
veered  toward  a  pair  of  cane  chairs 
by  the  guard  rail  and  did  not  even  so 
much  as  glance  in  our  direction. 

When  1  looked  around  again  Boyd 
was  edging  awav. 

"Where  to?"  I  asked. 

"  The  card  room."  he  shot  back  at 
me  in  a  brisk  undertone.  "  I  think 
my  men  are  there." 

I  stared  after  him  until  he  ducked 
his  head  to  enter  the  main  cabin  door. 
As  he  passed  out  of  sight,  Natalie 
Ware  came  tripping  down  from  the 
upper  deck,  her  face  a  wonderful 
flush  of  pink. 

"  What  is  that  man  doing  on  board 
this  boat  ?  "  she  demanded  of  me. 

"  He  came  aboard  to  arrest  Ru- 
pert." T  said,  "  and  I  think  he'll  do 
it.  too."  ✓ 

"And  you  patronize  him!"  she 
protested,  with  feminine  lack  of  logic. 
"  You're  not  playing  fair  with  us, 
Herbert.  You  know  he  is  our  en- 
emy." 


BAD  BLOOD  AND  BLUE. 


745 


"  In  the  first  place,  he  is  not  your 
enemy,"  I  replied.  "  In  the  second 
place,  he  is  your  friend  and  mine. 
Furthermore,  the  only  enemy  in  the 
world  Rupert  has  is  himself  and  the 
men  he  associates  with.  Isn't  Rupert 
amenable  to  the  law  the  same  as  the 
rest  of  us?  " 

Dangerous  ground  this,  you  will 
perceive.  But  I  was  determined  to 
have  done  with  beating  about  the 
bush  and  to  speak  my  mind. 

"  Not  to  a  trumped-up  charge,  a 
frame-up —  " 

"  Well,  if  there's  a  frame-up  he 
has  a  good  case  in  court  and  should 
stand  his  trial.  At  am*  rate,  Jerry  is 
but  an  agent  of  the  court.  The  grand 
jury  indicted  Rupert  for  poker  play- 
ing— for  being  a  common  gambler." 

"  Now  you're  trying  to  pick  a  quar- 
rel," she  exclaimed,  pouting.  More 
feminine  logic,  you  will  see. 

"  Not  at  all.  I'm  trying  to  show 
you  where  Boyd  is  right  and  the  rest 
of  you  are  wrong.    I  would —  " 

The  provoking  creature  stopped 
her  ears  with  the  ends  of  her  fore- 
fingers and  began  waltzing  back- 
ward. I  started  toward  her  in  pur- 
suit, whereupon  she  wheeled  and  ran. 

Just  as  she  flitted  by  the  cabin  sky- 
lights on  the  larboard  I  caught  her 
around  the  waist  and  kissed  her. 

Tt  was  child's  play,  of  course,  but 
we  were  both  rather  young  and 
rather  foolish. 

We  strolled  forward  again,  hand 
in  hand.  The  major  and  the  doctor 
had  deserted  their  post  by  the  guard 
rail,  and  as  we  reached  the  edge  of 
the  cabin  the  coarse  whistle  overhead 
signaled  for  Rod  fish  Landing,  re- 
minding me  sharply  of  Boyd's  visit  to 
the  card  room. 

I  began  wondering  what  had  been 
the  outcome  of  that  visit.  There  had 
been  no  pistol  shots,  no  unusual  noise. 
Who  had  been  victor  in  that  quiet 
contest  of  nerve  and  will  power? 

Sheriff  Boyd's  position  was  anom- 
alous, whatever  the  outcome  of  his 
visit  to  the  Nancy  Lee. 


If  he  permitted  Rupert  to  brow- 
beat him  from  the  line  of  his  duty- 
he  was  a  coward  in  the  eyes  of  Helen 
Ware.  If  he  took  Rupert  prisoner 
by  force,  he  would  be  considered  a 
bully,  inconsiderate  of  her  feelings. 
If  he  should  shoot  Rupert  in  self  de- 
fense, he  would  be  a  murderer. 

Because  of  this  peculiar  style  of 
reasoning,  my  friend  was  doomed  at 
the  outset  to  lose  the  lady's  favor. 

I  knew  what  Boyd  would  do.  He 
would  arrest  Rupert  Ware,  even 
though  Helen  should  never  speak  to 
him  again.  Yet  he  would  have  to 
make  quick  work  of  it  for  Bodfish 
Landing  was  only  a  mile  inside  the 
county  line. 

The  cabin  door  flew  open  almost 
in  our  faces,  and  out  trotted  Boyd 
with  his  prisoners.  Rupert  and  the 
two  disreputable  gamblers,  the  two 
men  who  were  to  blame  for  the  boy's 
dissipations. 

The  prisoners  walked  across  the 
deck  abreast,  Rupert  in  the  center, 
and  Boyd  followed  close  at  their 
heels. 

Behind  Boyd  came  Major  Ware, 
who  was  calling  on  high  Heaven  to 
witness  that  there  would  be  a  sequel 
to  the  day's  events. 

I  had  a  feeling  of  pity  for  the  old 
fire-eater.  He  was  approaching  sev- 
enty. I  remembered,  and  growing 
more  childish  every  day. 

But  it  was  plain  that  Helen  Ware 
neither  asked  nor  received  pity  as  she 
stepped  out  on  deck,  her  cheeks  scar- 
let and  her  eyes  flashing,  a  silent  wit- 
ness of  her  brother's  degradation.  I 
knew  her  well  enough  to  know  that 
she  would  not  have  interceded  with 
Boyd  at  that  moment  at  any  price, 
not  even  if  she  had  known  that  a 
word  from  her  would  have  brought 
about  the  boy's  release 

A  princess  of  the  house  of  Haps- 
burg  could  not  have  been  more 
sulkily  proud. 

The  sheriff  went  about  his  task 
with  calm  precision.  I  fancied  that 
he  could  almost  feel  the  looks  that 


746 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


were  as  daggers  aimed  at  his  broad 

back. 

But  if  he  realized  that  the  Wares 
were  marking  him  down  in  their 
books  for  slaughter,  both  in  love  and 
in  politics,  nothing  in  his  manner  in- 
dicated that  he  cared  very  much  one 
way  ur  the  other,  and  I  admired  his 
firmness  in  that. 

The  boat  was  within  fifty  yards  of 
the  shore  by  this  time,  circling  down 
slowly,  like  a  swooping  hawk,  on  the 
half  submerged  barge  that  was  used 
for  a  landing. 

Boyd  marched  his  men  down  the 
boiler-deck  stairs,  ignoring  the  black- 
looks  and  muttered  imprecations  be- 
hind him — not  the  least  being  those 
of  old  Dr.  Bertrand — and  lined  his 
men  on  the  port,  freight  deck. 

None  of  us  followed  the  quartet 
downstairs.  We  stood  in  a  row  by 
the  guard  rail  on  the  upper  deck  and 
looked  on  without  a  word. 

I  kept  my  eyes  on  Rupert  Ware, 
for  I  knew  that  the  sulky  youth's 
spirit  of  resistance  was  not  broken 
completely.  As  the  boat  neared  the 
landing  barge  I  saw  Rupert  creeping 
nearer  to  the  edge  of  the  deck,  and 
T  began  to  wonder  if  already  he  had 
conceived  some  plan  of  escape. 

He  had  sworn  that  Jerry  Boyd 
would  never  take  him  prisoner,  and 
nothing  would  be  too  bold  for  him  to 
attempt. 

He  had  planned  a  means  of  escape, 
for  when  the  engines  stopped  and  the 
boat  continued  plowing  the  water  by 
the  force  of  its  own  momentum.  T 
could  see  Rupert  measuring  the  dis- 
tance that  separated  him  from  the 
landing  barge. 

When  not  mojrc  than  six  feet  of 
turbid  water  lay  between  the  two 
hulls,  he  crouched  to  halt"  his  height 
and  leaped  into  the  air  across  the  in- 
tervening rspace. 

By  less  than  six  inches  he  fell  short 
"f  tlic  mark.  As  his  feet  went  down 
into  the  water  he  reached  out  with 
both  hands  and  grasped  the  edge  of 
the  landing  barge. 


The  river  beneath  him  was  ten  feet 
deep — and  the  boy  could  not  swim  a 
stroke!  But  more  to  be  dreaded 
than  that,  all  of  us  realized  that  when 
the  hulls  crashed  together  Rupert 
would  be  ground  into  a  shapeless 
mass. 

There  was  one  chance — a  slim  one. 
If  the  pilot  overhead  had  seen  the 
lad  s  attempt  to  escape,  and  had  time, 
lie  might  port  his  helm  and  keep  the 
crafts  apart. 

That  chance  went  by  in  a  flash. 
High  above  the  scene  on  the  freight 
deck  the  pilot  had  observed  Rupert's 
predicament  and  was  spinning  his 
wheel  witli  all  his  might — uselessly. 

Nothing  but  a  miracle  could  pre- 
vent the  Ijoat,  with  the  momentum  it 
had  gained,  from  crashing  jgjto  the 
barge ! 

We,  who  stood  Oh  the  boiler  deck, 
were  helpless.  I  shot  a  swift  glance 
down  the  rail,  and  for  many  a  day 
I  shall  remember  the  picture  I  saw. 

Major  Ware  stood  with  one  hand 
on  the  guard  rail,  the  other  clutching 
his  half-raised  cane,  his  mouth  open, 
his  breath  coming  in  short,  quick 
gasps.  Helen  Ware,  still  in  an  atti- 
tude of  stiff  disdain,  stood  with 
blanched  cheeks. 

Natalie's  actions  were  quicker. 
She  had  sunk  into  a  chair  and  cov- 
ered her  face  with  her  hands  to  shut 
out  the  horrible  sight  we  expected  to 
see. 

Sheriff  Boyd  alone  retained  a  per- 
fect presence  <>f  mind.  Rupert  him- 
self was  paralyzed  with  tear,  other- 
wise he  might  have  saved  himself  by 
putting  forth  a  superhuman  effort 
and  scrambling  on  board  the  barge. 

This  was  his  one  chance,  but  his 
mind  was  too  slow  of  action  to 
seize  it. 

The  current  swept  the  boat  toward 
the  barge  with  incredible  swiftness. 
The  ribbon  of  murky  water  between 
the  two  hulls  narrowed. 

Five  feet — four  feet — three  feet! 

'•  Brother!  " 

The  word  leaped  in  a  shrill  appeal 


BAD  BLOOD  AND  BLUE. 


747 


from  Helen's  white  lips — an  appeal 
to  Rupert  not  to  suffer  himself  to  be 
crushed  to  death.  It  might  have 
been  considered  an  appeal  to  Boyd 
too,  for  the  sheriff  instantly  flung 
himself  headlong  from  the  deck. 

I  held  my  breath  in  anxious  sus- 
pense. Would  there  be  two  deaths  in- 
stead of  one — two  men  crushed  be- 
tween the  timbers? 

Boyd  seized  Rupert  around  the 
waist,  but  Rupert  clung  to  the  barge 
in  a  frenzy  of  fear.  A  foolish  no- 
tion seemed  to  have  possessed  him 
that  safety  lay  in  holding  on,  but  the 
sheriff's  weight  tore  his  fingers  loose 
one  by  one. 

Rupert's  head  and  the  sheriff's  feet 
went  out  of  sight  at  the  same  mo- 
ment. The  next  instant  the  heavy 
timbers  of  the  water-soaked  hulls 
came  together  in  a  shock  that  caused 
the  Nancy  Lee  to  quiver  like  a  leaf 
in  the  wind. 

The  boat  was  headed  up-stream, 
but  it  drifted  slowly  with  the  current. 
The  water  above  the  submerged  men 
was  covered  by  the  two  dark  hulls. 

All  the  boat's  officers  could  do  was 
to  let  the  Nancy  Lee  drift. 

We  floated  three  feet  or  more  away 
from  the  barge,  all  of  us  with  our 
eyes  glued  to  the  place  where  the  men 
went  down.  It  did  not  occur  to  us. 
so  panic-stricken  were  we.  that  they 
might  come  to  the  surface  elsewhere. 

Twenty  feet  forward  of  the  boat 
two  heads   bobbed   up   as   one.  and 


Boyd  began  spouting  water  and  air 
spasmodically  from  his  mouth  and 
nose.  Breathless,  almost  lifeless,  he 
was  barely  able  to  keep  his  half 
strangled  prisoner  afloat. 

But  as  they  drifted  down-stream, 
the  roustabouts  ran  forward,  at  a  sig- 
nal from  the  captain,  and  hoisted 
them  on  deck,  where  they  lay  panting 
on  a  pile  of  cordage. 

Twenty  minutes  later  the  captain 
bustled  forward. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do?  " 
he  shouted  at  our  group.  "  I  can't 
be  kept  waiting  here  all  day." 

Old  Dr.  Bertrand  primed  himself 
at  once  for  a  farewell  speech. 

11  Sir."  he  said,  addressing  Boyd, 
"  I  am  happy  to  say  that  you  have 
proved  your  mettle.  I  am  told  your 
grandfather  was  a  hero  of  the  Mexi- 
can War:  and  as  I  have  always  said, 
sir,  blood  will  tell —  " 

"  Thank  you  very  kindly,  doctor," 
Boyd  said,  laughing,  and  cutting  short 
the  threatened  speech.  u  And  now 
we  must  be  going — " 

He  motioned  for  his  prisoners  to 
go  '  ashore.  They  went  along  as 
obediently  as  lambs,  and  Boyd  turned 
to  shake  hands  with  us  one  by  one. 

Last  in  line  stood  Helen  Ware, 
blushing  and  smiling — far  from  de- 
fiant. 

"  Good -by — God  bless  you  !  "  was 
her  fervent  prayer.  I'll  write  when 
I  get  to  New  Orleans  1" 


rr  tr  tx 

THE  COLLEGE  FURNACE 

BY    N.    PARKER  JONES 

THE  freshman  arrived  in  September  afire 
With  plans  to  improve  and  develop  his  brain: 
Soon  followed  by  equally  ardent  desire 

For  honors  athletic,  his  muscles  to  train. 
Dramatics  ihcn  fired  him  with  thoughts  of  his  looks, 

And  tennis  and  golf  warmed  his  heart,  but  alas! 
So  cool  grew  his  ardor  ere  long  toward  his  books 
That  in  June  he  was  fired  for  the  good  of  his  class! 


A  v_xxirse 


i 


T  was  after  Miss  Henrietta 
Tripp  quit  boarding  and  be- 
gan to  keep  house  that  she 
acquired  the  habit  of  asking 
her  nieces  to  visit  her.  This, 
they  strongly  suspected,  was 
because  Miss  Henrietta 
could  neither  cook  herself  nor  keep  a 
maid  beyond  her  first  pay-day. 

Miss  Henrietta  was  a  forceful  per- 
son of  an  exacting  nature,  and  even 
the  nieces  found  it  necessary  to  come 
in  relays,  three  months  for  each. 

Eileen-  turn  came  just  before 
Thanksgiving.  The  family,  en  masse, 
went  with  her  to  the  -tation  and  saw 
her  depart,  with  many  misgivings. 

For  Eileen  was  a  gentle  incompe- 
tent person,  not  at  all  like  her  bustling, 
capable  sisters,  and  they  were  firmly 
of  the  opinion  that  while  Eileen  might 
be  able  to  stand  Miss  Henrietta,  yet 
MifiS  Henrietta  could  not  possibly 
stand  Eileen. 

The  day  after  Eileen's  arrival  Miss 
Henrietta,  according  to  her  usual  cus- 
tom, banded  her  a  roll  of  bills. 

"That's  the  housekeeping  money 
fnr  three  months,"  she  said.  "  You 
Will  do  all  the  ordering  and  pay  all  the 
bills.  I  dislike  petty  housekeeping  de- 
tails, and  do  not  wish  to  be  bothered 
_WJth  them." 

She  left  the  gasping  Eileen  standing 
in  the  middle  of  the  kitchen  floor  and 


went  out  to  feed  the  dozen  chickens 
that  she  insisted  upon  keeping  to  her 
own  inconvenience  and  the  exaspera- 
tion of  her  neighbors,  who  objected  to 
being  wakened  before  daylight  by  the 
noisy  crowing  of  a  rooster. 

Eileen,  mechanically  clutching  the 
money  and  dazedly  repeating  "  House- 
keeping money  for  three  months."  had 
not  moved  when  a  shrill  scream  from 
the  back  yard  jarred  her  into  action. 

She  ran  out  to  find  that  Miss  Hen- 
rietta had  slipped  on  a  bit  of  ice 
treacherously  concealed  under  the 
newly  fallen  snow  and  lay  in  a  crum- 
pled heap  with  one  leg  twisted  under 
her.  She  groaned  with  pain  when 
Eileen  attempted  to  help  her  to  her 
feet. 

"  Go  next  door."  she  said.  "  and  get 
some  one  to  help  carry  me  in.  I've 
broken  something,  I  guess." 

Miss  Henrietta's  surmise  proved  to 
be  entirely  correct,  the  "something" 
being  her  hip. 

"  Voti'&  be  laid  up  for  three 
months."  the  doctor  told  her — and  said 
something  about  a  hospital. 

Rut  Miss  Henrietta  very  decidedly 
negatived  the  suggestion. 

Your  bill."  she  snapped  at  the  doc- 
tor. "  will  probably  be  all  I'll  want  to 
pay.  I'll  stay  where  I  am.  And  you 
needen't  bring  any  nurse  here  either. 
My  niece  wilj  look  after  me." 


748 


A  COURSE  OF  SPROUTS. 


749 


The  doctor  turned  a  doubtful  eye  in 
Eileen's  direction,  but  he  knew  Miss 
Henrietta  and  recognized  the  useless- 
ness  of  attempting  to  argue  with  her. 
So  he  put  her  in  a  plaster  cast,  gave 
Eileen  the  necessary  instructions  for 
her  care,  and  went  away. 

It  was  the  next  morning  that  Eileen, 
tidying  her  aunt's  room,  put  a  hesita- 
ting question. 

"  The  money  that  you  gave  me  yes- 
terday." she  said,  "  is  it  to  pay  for 
everything  for  three  months?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Henrietta  very 
firmly. 

Eileen  sighed. 

"  I  don't  see,"  she  said,  "  how  it  can 
possibly  be  made  to  do  that." 

"  It's  what  I  gave  Rose  and  Marga- 
ret and  Barbara  when  they  were  here," 
Miss  Henrietta  told  her.  "  And  it's 
plenty.** 

Eileen  would  have  attempted  a  fur- 
ther protest,  but  she  dared  not,  for 
Miss  Henrietta,  it  was  plain  to  see, 
was  rapidly  growing  belligerent;  and 
the  doctor  had  said  that  above  all 
things  she  must  be  kept  quiet  and 
un  worried. 

Eileen  carried  her  aunt's  breakfast- 
tray  down-stairs  and  began  thought- 
fully to  wash  the  dishes. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  told  herself  mourn- 
fully, "  it's  just  as  they've  always  said 
at  home — I'm  not  capable  like  the 
other  girls,  and  can't  do  things  the  way 
they  can.  But  how  they  ever  managed 
to  keep  house  for  three  months  on  that 
little  bit  of  money  I  do  not  see." 

She  wiped  a  plate  and  set  it  on  the 
table,  and  her  soft  mouth  set  suddenly 
in  a  firm  straight  line. 

"  If  they  did  it."  she  said.  "  so  can 
I.  I  can  and  I  will.  I'll  show  Aunt 
Henrietta! " 

The  little  bell  she  had  left  with  Miss 
Henrietta  to  summon  her  if  she  was 
wanted  rang  decidedly  and  she  went 
back  up-stairs. 

"  Eileen,"  directed  her  aunt.  "  don't 
forget  to  feed  the  chickens.  Give  them 
the  breakfast  scraps  and — " 

"  There  aren't  any  scraps,"  Eileen 


objected  promptly.  "  I  knew  what 
you  wanted  to  cat  and  I  knew  what  I 
wanted  to  eat,  and  I  cooked  just  that. 
There  was  nothing  left." 

"  Then  feed  them  out  of  the  bag  of 
chicken-feed  that's  on  "the  back  porch/' 
said  Miss  Henrietta.  M  Xo  scraps." 
she  was  thinking  after  Eileen  went 
out.  "  Rose  and  Margaret  and  Bar- 
bara always  had  scraps."  Then  she 
laughed.  "  Eileen  has  more  sense  than 
they  think."  she  said. 

Eileen  let  the  chickens  out  of  their 
tight  little  house  and  watched  them  eat 
the  grain  she  scattered  for  them. 

They  were  a  hungry  lot,  and  it  was 
plain  that  what  was  left  of  the  bag  of 
corn  would  not  last  long.  Eileen  eyed 
them  speculatively. 

"  They'd  make  a  lot  of  broth."  she 
decided.  The  doctor  had  ordered 
broth  for  Miss  Henrietta. 

Three  days  later,  Miss  Henrietta, 
dining  with  difficulty  because  she  had 
not  yet  accustomed  herself  to  taking 
her  food  while  in  a  recumbent  position, 
remarked  casually  that  she  had  not 
heard  the  rooster  crowing  that  morn- 
ing. 

Eileen  flushed  guiltily. 

"  He — he  froze  his  feet."  she  ex- 
plained after  a  moment's  hesitation. 

"  I  was  not  aware,"  said  Miss  Hen- 
rietta drylv,  "  that  he  crowed  with  his 
feet." 

"  I  couldn't  do  anything  for  his 
feet."  said  Eileen  nervouslv.  "  and  so 
I— that  is—" 

She  paused,  her  eyes  fastened  on 
Miss  Henrietta's  soup  bowl. 

Miss  Henrietta  followed  the  direc- 
tion of  her  niece's  glance.  "  Oh !  " 
she  said.  And  took  another  spoonful 
of  soup.  "  Well."  she  pronounced. 
11  he  made  good  soup  at  any  rate.  I 
suppose."  she  went  on  probingly, 
u  none  of  the  others  show  signs  of 
frozen  feet  ?  " 

Eileen  quaked. 

All  her  life  she  had  followed  the 
path  of  least  resistance,  letting  other 
people  choose  her  opinions  for  her  just 
as  they  did  her  clothes.    She  had  never 


750 


ALL-STORY  WEEKLY. 


thought  for  herself  because  no  one  had 
ever  expected  her  to,  and  it  had  not 
been  necessary-  Now  she  had  been 
suddenly  forced  out  of  her  accustomed 
groove  and  no  one  could  possibly  un- 
derstand how  terrified  she  was. 

u  That  big  Plymouth  Rock  hen," 
she  said  in  a  voice  that  shook  in  spite 
of  her  effort  to  control  it,  "  seems  to 
— to  be  limping  a  little." 

The  Plymouth  Rock  had  been  select- 
ed by  Eileen  for  the  next  victim  be- 
cause she  had  the  largest  appetite. 

••  Jt's  very  strange  about  their  feet," 
said  Miss  "Henrietta.  "They  went 
through  all  last  winter  without  any- 
thing happening  to  them,  and — " 

'•  [f  you  want  to  see  their  feet — " 
Sashed  Eileen  almost  too  quickly. 

"  I've  already  told  you."  Miss  Hen- 
rietta came  back  also  with  suspicious 
readiness,  iC  that  I  do  not  w  ish  to  be 
bothered  with  tiresome  details.  Of 
course,  I  understand  you'll  do  the  best 
you  can  with  the  chickens:  but  if  any 
more  of  them  do  freeze  their  feet,  why 
it's  better  to  make  soup  out  of  them 
than  to  let  them  go  about  suffering. " 

She  tilted  her  bowl  and  took  the  last 
spoonful.  "  You  make  very  good 
soup,"  she  complimented.  "  Who 
taught  you?  " 

■  No  one,"  said  Eileen.  "  I  never 
made  soup  until  I  came  here.  At 
home  mother  makes  it,  or  Barbara. 
But  I  know  how  it  ought  to  taste  when 
it's  done,  and  if  you  know  how  a  thing 
ought  to  be  when  it's  finished,  all  you 
have  to  do  is  to  keep  at  it  until  it  is 
that  way." 

"Humph!"  said  Miss  Henrietta. 
"  You  never  got  that  recipe  out  of  a 
book?" 

"  No,"  said  Eileen  seriously ;  "  out 
of  my  head." 

II. 

A  month  later  Mrs.  Carrington 
Keith  came. 

Mrs.  Keith  was  Eileen's  married  sis- 
ter. She  was  a  large  lady  crosswise 
with  an  earnest  manner  and  a  tendency 
toward  minding  other  people's  busi- 


ness. She  had  been  away  at  the  time 
of  Miss  Henrietta's  accident,  and  she 
was  profuse  in  her  regrets  and  apolo- 
gies. 

"  And,  of  course,"  she  wound  up, 
"  now  that  I  am  back,  I  shall  take 
charge  here,  dear  Aunt  Henrietta,  and 
sec  that  you  have  every  care  and  at- 
tention." 

*'  It  isn't  necessary,"  said  Miss  Hen- 
rietta with  sharp  promptness.  "  Eileen 
is  giving  me  all  the  care  and  attention 
I  require." 

"  But  Eileen  is  so  young,"  objected 
Mrs.  Keith,  "  and.  therefore,  not  very 
capable.  I  am  sure,  dear  Aunt  Hen- 
rietta— " 

"  And  you  needn't,"  went  on  the  un- 
moved Miss  Henrietta  with  a  glance 
at  the  glass  jar  and  the  covered  bowl 
Mrs.  Keith  had  placed  on  the  table  be- 
side the  bed,  "  bring  me  anything  more 
to  eat.  I  have  money  of  my  own  to 
buy  the  raw  material,  and  the  way 
Eileen  cooks  it  suits  me  very  well." 

Mrs.  Keith  gasped.  She  had  not 
supposed  that  Eileen  could  cook.  She 
made  a  few  more  suggestions,  all  of 
which  were  promptly  set  aside  by  Miss 
Henrietta,  and  finally  she  took  her  re- 
luctant leave. 

But  two  days  later  she  came  back. 
She  stopped  in  the  living-room  below 
stairs,  sat  clown  heavily,  and  folded 
her  hands  over  her  hand-bag. 

44  It  has  come  to  me,"  she  said  to 
Eileen.  "  from  a  source  that  I  cannot 
but  consider  entirely  reliable  that  you 
are  not  getting  on  very  well." 

A  cold  chill  wavered  up  Eileen's 
spine.  She  was  in  a  hard  position, 
and  nothing  she  was  doing,  she  very 
well  knew,  would  meet  with  her 
sister's  approval,  did  she  know  of  it. 
And  Hortense  was  such  a  difficult 
person  to  combat!  But  Eileen  faced 
her  defiantly. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean," 
she  said  shortly. 

"  Eileen,"  Mrs.  Keith  said  impres- 
sively, "  I  know  that  your  gas  has  been 
turned  off." 

"  Well,"  said  Eileen,  "  and  what  if 


A  COURSE  OF  SPROUTS. 


761 


it  has?  There's  no  sense  in  having  it 
on  when  it's  not  needed." 

"  But  it  is  needed,"  insisted  Mrs. 
Keith.    "  The  gas- range — " 

"  I  prefer  to  cook  on  the  water 
heater,"  said  Eileen.  "  That's  run  by 
coal." 

"But  your  lights?"  insisted  Mrs. 
Keith. 

"  Aunt  Henrietta  always  uses  a 
lamp  in  her  room  anyway."  said 
Eileen.  "  She  likes  it  better  than  gas 
light." 

"But  the  rest  of  the  house?" 

"Do  you  suppose?"  said  Eileen, 
"  we  have  only  one  lamp?  " 

"  We  were  told,"  said  Mrs.  Keith, 
"  that  the  gas  was  turned  off  because 
Aunt  Henrietta  could  not  pay  her  bill. 
So  I  have  come  to  offer  help." 

Eileen's  face  flushed. 

"  We  do  not  need  help,"  she  said. 
"  Aunt  Henrietta  can  pay  that  bill,  and 
she  will — when  she  gets  good  and 
ready." 

Mrs.  Keith  got  to  her  feet. 

H  I  think."  she  said,  "  I  shall  have 
to  see  Aunt  Henrietta  about  the  mat- 
ter." 

She  went  into  the  hall,  but  Eileen 
was  quicker  than  she  and  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs  barred  the  way. 

"  The  doctor,"  she  stated  positively. 
"  has  said  that  Aunt  Henrietta  must 
not  be  worried.  It  makes  her  temper- 
ature rise.  You  can't  see  her  to-day. 
Hortense,  and  I  think  you'd  better  go 
home." 

Mrs.  Keith  tried  argument  and  ex- 

f>ostulation.  but  finding  both  alike  use- 
ess  she  finally  went.  Eileen  carefully 
locked  the  door  after  her  and  went  up- 
stairs to  her  aunt. 

"  I  thought,"  Miss  Henrietta  greet- 
ed her,  "  I  heard  Hortense's  voice  in 
the  hall." 

Probably  you  did."  Eileen  admit- 
ted, "  and  mine,  too."  she  added. 

"  What  were  you  doing?  "  demand- 
ed Miss  Henrietta. 

'*  Putting    her    out."    said  Eileen. 
"  She  was  butting  in." 

"  Humph !  "    said    Miss  Henrietta. 


"  She  wouldn't  be  Hortense  if  she  was 
not  doing  that.  Can  you  keep  her 
out?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Eileen  determinedlv, 
M  I  can." 

Miss  Henrietta  chuckled. 

"  Then  do  it."  she  said. 

That  night  Eileen,  returning  just  at 
dusk  from  the  grocery  store  on  the 
corner,  saw  a  man  and  a  woman  get- 
ting out  of  an  auto  that  had  been 
stopped  before  her  aunt's  house. 

Recognizing  them,  she  was  devout- 
ly thankful  that  the  front  door  was 
securely  locked  on  the  inside  and  that 
the  back  door  key  was  sa  fe  in  her  coat- 
pocket.  She  intercepted  them  at  the 
front  of  the  porch  steps. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  Howt " 
was  her  chilly  greeting. 

"  We  want  to  come  inside,  for  one 
thing."  Mrs.  Keith  told  her. 

"  Well,  you  can't,"  Eileen  said  de- 
cidedly. "  If  you  have  anything  to 
say  to  me  I'll  listen  to  it  right  here." 

To  let  them  in  would  have  been  to 
reveal  the  fact  that  there  really  was 
only  one  lamp  in  the  house.  Miss 
Henrietta  had  that  one. 

Eileen  for  the  most  part  went  about 
in  the  dark.  But  she  had  a  carefully 
hoarded  end  of  tallow  candle  that 
could  be  pressed  into  service  when 
absolutely  required.  She  did  not,  how- 
ever, propose  to  waste  it  on  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Carrington  Keith. 

They  looked  at  her  somberly. 
"  We  want."  they  said  in  unison, 
"  to  help  you." 

"  I've  already  told  you."  said  the 
harassed  Eileen,  u  that  I  don't  want 

any  help." 

"  That's  just  your  pride."  said  her 
sister.    "  I'm  sure  you  need  help." 

"  If  my  gas  had  been  turned  off." 
said  Mr.  Carrington  Keith,  "  I'd  think 
I  wanted  help.  We  have  decided. 
Eileen,  to  pav  Aunt  Henrietta's  gas 
bill." 

"  It  you're  bound  to  pay  it."  flared 
Eileen,  "  I  suppose  I  can't  stop  you. 
But  J  can  tell  you  one  thing — I  won't 
let  them  in  to  turn  on  the  gas  again." 


752 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


"Of  course,"  conceded  Mr.  Keith, 
u  if  you  won't  use  the  gas  there'd  be 

no  sense  in  my  paying  the  bill.  But  I 
think,  Eileen,  we  are  entitled  to  an 
explanation.  For  either  Aunt  Hen- 
rietta is  diort  of  money  and  cannot 
pay  the  bill,  or  she  can  pay  and  won't. 
And  it  is  not  honest  to  refuse  to  pay 
your  bills  when  they  are  due."  he 
stated  virtuously. 

"Aunt  Henrietta/'  affirmed  Kileen. 
"  has  just  as  much  money  as  ever  she 
had  and  she's  just  as  honest  as  you 
are. 

"But  our  gas  bill."  she  announced 
defiantly.  "  is  our  own  affair  and 
you've  no  right  to  come  asking  ques- 
tions about  it.  And  I've  no  time  to 
stand  here  any  longer  talking  to  you," 
she  ended. 

She  crossed  the  snowy  yard,  hut  at 
the  corner  of  the  house  she  turned. 

"  It's  not  a  matter  of  pride  with 
me."  she  flung  at  them.  "  It's  one  of 
decent  self-respect.  And  you  needn't 
come  back  again,  for  if  you  do  I  won't 
let  you  in." 

She  disappeared  round  the  house 
and  they  heard  the  slam  of  the  back 
door  as  it  closed  after  her. 

M I  suppose."  said  Mrs.  Keith  to 
her  husband,  "  there's  no  use  in  fol- 
lowing her?  " 

'*  None  whatever  I  should  say."  he 
told  her.  "  We've  done  all  we  could." 
And  he  piloted  hi>  wife  to  their  wait- 
ing car  and  helped  her  in. 

Eileen  heard  them  drive  off. 

Then  her  overstrained  nerves  gave 
way  and  she  began  to  cry.  Her  eyes 
were  still  red  when  a  little  later  she 
carried  Miss  Henrietta's  dinner  tray 
up-stairs. 

"  You've  been  crying,"  her  sharp- 
eyed  aunt  accused  her.  "  What's  the 
matter?  " 

"  Hortense  brought  Carrington 
here,"  Eileen  explained.  "  And  I  told 
them  if  they  came  back  again  I 
wouldn't  let  them  in." 

"Humph!"  said  Miss  Henrietta. 
"And  now  you're  sorry  you  did  it?" 

"  No,"  said  Eileen    with    a  gulp. 


"  But  it  makes  me  mad  to  think  of 
all  the  other  things  I  might  have  said 
and  didn't." 

Ill 

Tnu  next  morning  the  gas  collector 

called  for  the  second  time.  On  the 
occasion  of  his  first  visit  Eileen  nerv- 
ously, almost  tearfully,  apologetic  be- 
cause of  her  inability  to  pay,  had  fair- 
ly cringed  before  him. 

Now  her  attitude  had  changed. 

"  That  old  gas  company,"  she 
stated  distinctly,  "  made  more  than  a 
million  dollars  net  last  year.  I  know 
because  I  read  it  in  the  paper.  If 
they  have  all  that  money  they  can  get 
along  without  the  little  we  owe  them 
a  whole  lot  better  than  I  can  get  along 
without  the  gas. 

"I'm  turning  black  and  blue  from 
hitting  myself  against  the  furniture  in 
the  dark ;  and  I  have  to  do  all  the 
cooking  on  the  water  heater,  and  it 
never  in  this  world  was  built  for  a 
cook  stove." 

She  paused  a  moment  for  breath 
then  hurried  on. 

"  We're  not  ready  to  pay  yet,"  she 
said,  "  and  I  don't  know  when  we  will 
be.  But  when  we  are  we'll  pay  at 
the  office.  There's  no  use  at  all  in 
your  coming  here;  you're  just  wast- 
ing your  time." 

Eileen  was  angry  because  in  the 
gas  collector  she  recognized  the  **  re- 
liable source  "  from  whom  the  Keiths 
had  learned  of  Miss  Henrietta's 
turned-off  gas  and  unpaid  gas  bill. 

By  the  simple  expedient  of  muf- 
fling the  door-bell  every  evening 
Eileen  had  managed  to  keep  people 
out  after  dark,  and  no  one.  not  even 
Miss  Henrietta,  knew  that  the  gas  had 
been  turned  off. 

But  the  gas  collector  knew,  and 
Eileen  remembered  that  Hortense  had 
once  said  with  a  laugh  that  she  knew 
which  of  her  friends  kept  their  gas 
bills  paid  up  and  which  didn't,  for 
Carrington's  friend,  the  gas  collector, 
told  them. 

Circumstantial    evidence    was  all 


A  COURSE  OF  SPROUTS. 


763 


against  the  gas  collector,  and  Eileen 
having  finished  her  deliant  speech 
stood  glaring  at  him  and  waited  to 
see  what  he  had  to  say. 

But  he  merely  remarked  mildly 
that  it  sometimes  did  happen  that  peo- 
ple could  not  pay  their  bills  and*  he 
guessed  the  gas  company  would  have 
to  wait  for  this  one.  Then  he  grinned, 
remembering  Eileen's  statement  con- 
cerning the  net  earnings  of  the  gas 
company. 

"  I  guess  you're  right."  he  said, 
"  it  won't  break  'em  to  wait."  And 
he  mounted  his  wheel  and  rode  off. 

At  their  first  meeting  the  gas  col- 
lector had  given  considerable  more 
thought  to  the  bill  he  was  trying  to 
collect  than  he  had  to.  Eileen.  Now 
he  remembered  her  snapping  eyes  and 
flushed  cheeks. 

"Gee!"  he  said  to  himself,  "I 
didn't  think  she  had  it  in  her.  I  like 
'em  spunky  like  that." 

The  next  week  when  he  called  he 
began  to  talk  almost  before  Eileen 
had  fairly  got  the  door  open. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  keep  coming  here 
and  bothering  you  like  this,"  he  apol- 
ogized. "  but  they  keep  pretty  close 
track  of  the  unpaid  bills  at  the  office, 
and  they  expect  me  to  report  on  them 
about  every  so  often. 

"  I'm  a  new  broom,"  he  explained 
with  a  laugh.  "  and  I  have  to  sweep 
clean  or  lose  my  job.  Maybe  when 
I've  worked  for  'em  longer —  " 

"  Oh."  interrupted  Eileen.  "  aren't 
you  the  collector  they've  had  for  the 
last  two  years?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  told  her;  "that  man 
blatted  about  who  paid  their  bills  and 
who  did  not.  and  they  found  it  out 
and  fired  him.  I've  only  had  this  job 
two  weeks.  This  was  the  first  place 
they  sent  me  to." 

Eileen  stared  at  him,  her  mind 
working  rapidly. 

Just  as  she  had  thought,  the  gas 
collector  had  told  Carrington.  But  it 
was  not  this  collector;  and  she  had 
misjudged  him  and  been  rude  to  him. 


She  began  to  cast  about  for  a  way 
of  making  amends. 

Her  eye  fell  on  his  wheel  leaning 
against  the  curb. 

"Isn't  it,"  she  ventured,  "rather 
cold  going  about  on  a  wheel  in  the 
winter?  " 

"  Sometimes  it  is,"  he  admitted. 
"  But,"  he  added  with  his  ready  laugh, 
'  the  gas  company  doesn't  provide  its 
collector  with  an  auto." 

"  Perhaps,"  suggested  Eileen  shyly. 
"  you'd  like  to-  come  in  long  enough 
to  get  warm." 

The  gas  collector  would  and  did. 
He  followed  Eileen  to  the  kitchen,  for 
that,  she  explained,  was  the  most  com- 
fortable room,  and  he  pulled  off  his 
thick  gloves  and  stood  beside  the 
water-heater  warming  his  hands. 

"  So  you  cook  on  this  ?  "  he  said. 

"  In  it,"  Eileen  corrected.  "  You 
see."  she  explained.  "  the  top  of  it  is 
so  far  above  the  fire  that  vou  can't 
possibly  get  it  hot  enough  to  cook  any- 
thing. So  what  I  want  to  cook  I  put 
in  a  small  covered  bucket  and  hang  it 
on  a  poker  inside  the  water-heater." 

"  Gee ! "  said  the  gas  collector. 
"  How'd  you  ever  happen  to  think  of 
that?" 

11  I  had  to  think  of  something."  said 
Eileen.  "  for.  of  course,  we  couldn't 
stop  eating  just  because  the  gas  was 
turned  off  and  I  couldn't  go  on  cook- 
ing on  the  gas  range.  When  you 
have  to  think  of  things."  she  added, 
"  you  can." 

Well,"  admitted  the  gas  collector. 
"  I  never  thought  of  it  in  just  that 
way,  but  I  suppose  you're  right." 

He  stood  for  a  moment  in  silence, 
eyifig  Eileen  reflectively.    Then  : 

"  If  you  think  I'm  being  nosy."  he 
burst  out,  "  you  can  say  so  and  shut 
me  up.  but  I  wish  you'd  put  me  on  to 
the  combination — tell  me  what  sort  of 
a  circus  in  three  rings  you're  running, 
anyway.  They  told  me  at  the  office 
that  1  ought  t<>  have  no  trouble  at  all 
in  collecting  this  bill ;  the  old  lady  had 
loads  of  money,  they  said.  But  that 
doesn't  somehow  jibe  with  cooking  in- 


754 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


side  a  water-heater.    I  can't  figure  it 

out." 

"  No  one  could."  said  Eileen. 
"  That's  why  I  can't  let  any  one  know." 
She  sighed.  "  Do  you  know  how  much 
tilings  ought  to  cost?"  she  questioned 
abruptly. 

"  That  depends/1  said  the  gas  col- 
lector.   "  Some  1  do  and  some  I  don't." 

"  I  mean,"  said  Eileen,  u  things  to 
eat.  and  coal  and — " 

w  Oh.  living  expenses!  "  the  gas  col- 
lector helped  her  out.  "  Well,  I  pay 
six  dollars  a  week  for  my  room  and 
board.  It's  not  the  best  board,  and  the 
room — " 

"  I  don't  mean  quite  that."  Eileen 
interrupted.  "I  mean  things  before 
they'd  cooked  and  coal  by  the  ton 
and —  What  I  want  to  know,"  she 
added  desperately,  "  is  how  much 
m«»ney  two  people  really  ought  to  have 
to  live  on  for  three  months. 

You  see.  my  sisters  have  been  com- 
ing to  stay  with  Aunt  Henrietta,  turn 
about,  three  months  for  each  of  them. 
Then  I  came,  and  she  gave  me  the 
housekeeping  money  for  three  months 

"  She  said  it  was  just  what  she  had 
given  each  of  the  others,  and  every- 
thing must  be  paid  out  of  it.  But  it 
didn't  seem  enough  to  me.  and  I  tried 
to  tell  her  so,  but  that  was  after  her 
accident;  and  talking  about  it  made 
her  temperature  rise,  and  the  doctor 
had  said  she  must  not  be  worried;  so 
I  had  to  give  it  up  and  make  the  money 
do.  whether  it  was  enough  or  not." 

The  gas  collector  looked  deeply  in- 
terested. 

"  I  low  much  did  she  give  you?  "  he 
questioned  in  a  businesslike  way. 
Eileen  told  him. 

"Gee."  he  said,  "and  then  some! 
I'd  say  that  was  scarcely  enough  to 
buy  even  the  plainest  food  for  two  peo- 
ple for  three  months." 

A  relieved  look  came  over  Eileen's 
face. 

"  That  was  what  T  thought."  she 
said.  "  And  that's  why  I  didn't  pay 
the  gas  bill.  I  thought  I  needed  the 
money  for  food." 


"  Well.  I  guess  you  did.  all  right." 
the  gas  collector  conceded.  u  Why 
don't  you,"  he  suggested,  "  speak  to 
your  aunt  about  it  again?  There  must 
be  a  mistake  somewhere." 

Eileen  shook  her  head. 

'"  I'm  afraid  there's  no  mistake,"  she 
said.  11  Aunt  Henrietta  surely  knows 
what  she  gave  to  the  girls  and  what 
they  bought  with  it.  It's  just,  I  sup- 
pose, that  I'm  not  capable  like  they  are 
and  don't  know  how  to  manage.  But 
I'll  do  the  best  I  can.  and  that's  all  I 
can  do.  I  can  feed  us.  but  I  can't  pay 
gas  bills." 

"What  do  you  have  to  eat?"  de- 
manded the  gas  collector  sharply. 

"Aunt  Henrietta — "  Eileen  was  be- 
ginning, but  he  cut  her  short. 

'*  T  didn't  ask  about  her,"  he  said. 
"You  don't  need 'to  tell  me  that  you 
somehow  squeeze  out  every  last  thing 
she  wants  or  thinks  she  wants.  I  want 
to  know  what  you  have?  " 

Eileen  flushed. 

"  Mostly  cabbage  and  potatoes." 
she  reluctantly  confessed.  "  They're 
cheaper  than  anything  else." 

"  I  hate  'em  both !  "  the  gas  collector 
exploded  viciously. 

He  pulled  on  his  gloves  with  a  jerk 
and  took  an  abrupt  departure.  Eileen, 
wondering  at  his  sudden  change  of 
manner,  hoped  she  had  not  offended 
him. 

In  half  an  hour  he  was  back.  He 
came  to  the  back  door,  and  he  strode 
in  and  placed  on  the  kitchen  table  a 
large,  bulky  paper  sack. 

"  Look  here !  "  he  said.  "  I  hope 
you  won't  think  I'm  being  fresh,  but 
the  etiquette  books  all  say  a  gentleman 
may  present  a  lady  with  fruit  and 
candy  if  he  wants  to.  I  know  you're 
a  lady,  and  I  hope  I'm  a  gentleman, 
and  I've  stayed  within  the  limits,  and 
I  thought — that  is,  1  hoped — well,  you 
know  cabbage  and  potatoes  all  the 
time — " 

Eileen  pulled  the  sack  toward  her 
and  slipped  off  the  string. 

"  I'd  be  sorry  to  think."  she  said, 
u  that  I  couldn't  understand  and  ap- 


A  COURSE  OF  SPROUTS. 


755 


predate  real  kindness  when  it's  shown 
me.  And  those  apples  and  oranges 
and  bananas  look  better  to  nie  than 
anything  I  ever  saw.  Thank  you  so 
much." 

The  gas  collector  beamed  with  pleas- 
ure at  her  receipt  of  his  gift  and  took 
an  oblong  box  from  his  pocket. 

"  I  was  forgetting  the  candy."  he 
said. 

Eileen  put  out  her  hand  and  took  the 
box  from  him. 

"  But  it's  sixty-cent  candy,"  she  re- 
proached him. 

Sure  it  is,"  he  said.  "  All  the  girls 
I  know  think  a  fellow  a  cheap  skate  if 
he  pays  less  than  that  for  candy." 

"  Ifs  too  much,"  said  Eileen  decided- 
ly. M  There's  twenty-five-cent  candy 
in  this  town  that's  good  enough  for 
any  girl :  and  forty  cents  is  always 
enough  to  pay." 

The  gas  collector  stared.  Then  he 
recovered  with  a  jerk. 

"  Say,"  he  said  with  startling  frank- 
ness. "  you're  my  kind,  all  right.  I'd 
like  to  get  better  acquainted  with  you. 
What  do  you  do  evenings?  " 

Eileen  giggled. 

"  Muffle  the  door-bell,"  she  told  him, 
"so  no  one  can  get  in  and  find  I  have 
no  light." 

M  But  it  I  came  to  the  back  door," 
the  gas  collector  insisted,  "  and  brought, 
a  tallow  candle  with  me?  " 

"  Tallow  candles,"  said  Eileen  de- 
murely. 11  are  three  for  a  nickel,  and 
three  will  last  a  whole  evening." 

IV. 

"  Aunt  Henrietta,"  said  Eileen, 
"  my  three  months  will  not  be  up  for 
another  week;  but  to-morrow  you're 
coming  down-stairs,  and  you'll  find 
there's  a  bill  to  be  paid.  It  seemed  bet- 
ter to  tell  you  to-night." 

Miss  Henrietta  looked  at  her  sharply. 

"  Only  one?  "  she  said. 

"  Yes,"  said  Eileen.  "  The  gas  bill." 
she  explained.  "  And  we  ought  to  or- 
der coal." 

M  Then  order  it,"  instructed  Miss. 


Henrietta,  "and  pay  for  it.  Pay  the 
gas  bill,  too.  I  gave  you  housekeeping 
money  for  three  months,"  she  re- 
minded. 

"  Yes,"  said  Eileen  slowly.  14 1  know 
you  did ;  but  in  no  way,  shape,  or  man- 
ner could  I  make  it  enough  to  meet  all 
the  expenses.  I  can  buy  us  food  for 
the  one  remaining  week,  but  I  cannot 
pay  the  gas  bill  or  get  coal.*' 

"  Urn,"  said  Miss  Henrietta.  Then 
■  she  began  to  laugh.  *■  I'm  not  really 
surprised  that  you  can't,"  she  sail 
"  Eileen,  I  suppose  you're  not  aware 
that  you've  been  keeping  house  on  one- 
tenth  the  money  Rose  and  Margaret 
and  Barbara  had?  " 

Eileen  stared  at  her. 

"  One-tenth  the  money  they  had!" 
she  gasped.  14  But  I  thought — you 
know  you  said — " 

"  Yes."  Miss  Henrietta  cut  in.  "  I 
know  I  did.  and  I  thought  1  was  tell- 
ing the  truth:  but.  Eileen.  I  made  a 
mistake.  There  were  two  rolls  of  bills 
in  my  money-box.  one  of  them  tens  and 
the  other  ones. 

"  I  meant  to  give  you  the  tens,  but 
I  gave  you  the  ones,  and  never  knew 
it  until  this  morning,  when  I  looked  in 
my  box  for  the  first  time  since  I  broke 
my  hip.  W  hy.  child,  what's  the  mat- 
ter? " 

For  Eileen  had  turned  suddenly  and. 
burying  her  face  in  the  curve  of  her 
arm.  was  sobbing  violently. 

Miss  Henrietta  reached  across  and 
patted  her  niece's  shoulder. 

"  Why.  there — "  she  said  in  a  voice 
curiously  unlike  her  usually  sharp  one. 

Eileen  lifted  her  head  and  achieved 
a  watery  smile. 

"  I  guess  it's  nerves."  she  said.  "  I 
wasn't  expecting  such  a  let-up.  Some 
of  it's  been  pretty  awful.  Aunt  Hen- 
rietta." 

" AB  of  it,  I  should  say."  corrected 
her  aunt  grimly.  u  Child,  how  did  you 
do  it.  and  why?  " 

"  I  began."  said  Eileen.  "  because  I 
thought  I  had  to.  but  I  kept  on.  Aunt 
Henrietta,  because  I  wanted  to." 

Her  aunt  nodded  thoughtfully. 


756 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


•■  I  always  thought.  Eileen."  she 
said.  "  that  there  was  good  stuff  in  you. 
but  something  out  of  the  ordinary  was 
required  to  bring  it  out.  And  how  did 
you  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  could  buy  US  food."  said  Eileen. 
"  but  nothing  else.  That  gas  bill  that 
we  owe  is  the  first  one.  they  sent  in." 

She  smiled  a  little 

'•  It's  also  the  last."  she  .said.  "  tor  I 
couldn't  pay  it.  and  they  turned  off  the 
gas." 

"I  never  suspected  it,"  said  Miss 
Henrietta. 

-  \o."  said  Eileen.  "  You  had  your 
lamp,  so  of  course  yog  wouldn't 
know." 

"  But  you  had  light  of  some  sort  ?  " 
insisted  Miss  Henrietta. 

"  Just  a  tallow  candle,"  said  Eileen. 
u  But  I  only  lighted  that  when  I  was 
fixing  your  tray  and  had  to  see.'' 

"  But  you  were  always  afraid  of  the 
dark."  objected  Miss  Henrietta. 

"Yes."  said  Eileen;  "I  thought  I 
couldn't  even  sleep  without  a  light." 

She  clasped  her  hands  about  her 
knees  and  gazed  reflectively  into  the 
glowing  coals  of  Miss  Henrietta's  open 
fire. 

"  I'm  not  afraid  now."  she  said. 
"  And  I  guess  when  you  are  afraid  of 
a  thing,  the  only  way  to  get  over  it  is 
to  keep  going  up  against  it  until  you're 
not  afraid  any  more." 

"  Most  of  us  haven't  the  nerve  to  do 
that."  said  Miss  Henrietta. 

**  But  it  jrOu  have  to,"  said  Eileen. 
"  you  can.  It  was  because  of  the  gas 
being  turned  off,"  she  went  on.  "  that 
I  had  tp  tight  Hortense.  She  found  it 
out  and  was  determined  to  interfere. 

"Of  course."  she  conceded,  "  it  was 
all  right  for  her  to  ask  if  I  needed  help 
— I'm  sure  she  meant  to  be  kind — but 
when  I  said  4  fro,1  she  shuiild  have 
Stopped  there,  but  she  wouldn't.  So." 
she  ended  simplv.  "  I  made  her  stay 
out." 

"Why  wouldn't  you  let  her  help?" 
demanded  Miss  Henrietta  abruptly. 

Hortense  doesn't  help."  said*  Ei- 
leen.   "  She  insists  always  on  running 


things  her  way,  and  her  way  is  not  my 

way.    It  was  my  job. 

"  You'd  given  me  what  you  said  was 
three  months'  housekeeping  money  and 
told  me  what  you  expected  of  me. 
That  made  me  responsible.  But  be- 
cause you  were  hurt  and  helpless,  and 
could  not  see  to  anything  yourself,  I 
was  doubly  responsible.  So  I  just  did 
the  best  I  could." 

"  I  think."  said  Miss  Henrietta,  11  no 
one  could  have  done  better." 

Praise  from  Miss  Henrietta  was  so 
rare  that  it  was  praise  indeed.  Eileen 
Hushed  with  surprise  and  pleasure. 

"  At  first."  she  went  on.  glad  to  talk 
it  all  over  with  Miss  Henrietta,  "  I  was 
angry  that  Hortense  had  found  out 
about  the  gas.  Then  I  began  to  see  it 
really  didn't  matter,  for  if  I  hadn't 
fought  her  about  the  gas  I'd  have  had 
to  about  the  fires. 

"  She  said  the  first  time  she  was  here 
that  I  wasn't  keeping  the  house  warm 
enough.  And  of  course."  Eileen  cheer- 
fully admitted.  "  I  wasn't,  for  I  wasn't 
running  the  furnace  at  all  —  just  the 
water-heater  in  the  kitchen  and  your 
grate  up  here." 

"  I  never  knew,"  said  Miss  Hen- 
rietta. "  But  surely  you  bought  some 
coal.  Eileen?  " 

Eileen  shook  her  head. 

"  Why.  I  co  ii  hi  n't,"  she  said.  41  But 
there  was  already  a  great  deal  in  the 
cellar,  and  I  used  it  as  carefully  as  I 
could.  Then  when  I  saw  it  wasn't 
going  to  last  through.  I  kept  it  for  just 
stonny  days  and  other  days  I — " 

She  stopped  flushing. 

"  You  what?  "  questioned  her  aunt. 
"  Go  on,  Eileen." 

"  I  said  more  than  I  meant  to,"  said 
Eileen.  "  I  hadn't  intended  to  tell. 
But.  if  you  want  to  know,  I  picked  up 
coal  in  the  alleys." 

"  You — "  began  Miss  Henrietta, 
and  stopped,  for  words  failed  her. 

"  You  wouldn't  think  any  one  would 
get  much  that  way,"  said  Eileen.  u  but 
you  can.*  Tt's  spilt  when  they're  shov- 
eling it  from  the  wagons  into  the  coal- 
houses  and  down  coal-chutes,  and  lots 


A  COURSE  OF  SPROUTS. 


767 


of  people  just  let  it  lie  and  never  trou- 
ble to  pick  it  up.  I  guess,  Aunt  Hen- 
rietta, there's  more  waste  in  the  world 
than  any  one  imagines." 

"  Yes,"  Miss  Henrietta  agreed  ab- 
sently, n  I  suppose  there  is." 

But  it  was  not  of  that  she  was  think- 
ing. Rather  she  was  wondering  of 
what  stern  stuff  was  this  girl  made 
that  she  had  done  a  thing  like  that. 
She  had  not  been  actuated  by  the  in- 
stinct for  self-preservation. 

That  would  have  sent  her  hurrying 
to  the  nearest  coal-dealer  where  Miss 
Henrietta's  name  would  easily  enough 
have  secured  her  credit. 

Rather  was  there  in  her  something  . 
better  and  higher  and  nobler — that 
something  that  causes  men — and  wom- 
en, too — to  die  for  a  principle  or  at  the 
post  of  duty,  and  lifts  them  nearer 
God. 

11 1  don't  know,"  said  Miss  Henri- 
etta slowly,  if  any  one  of  your  sis- 
ters could  have  done  what  you  have, 
but  I  do  know  that  not  one  of  them 
would/' 

u  But  I  had  to,"  said  Eileen. 

Miss  Henrietta  looked  at  her  and  a 
slow  twinkle  dawned  in  her  eye. 

"  You've  done  your  part,  that's  cer- 
tain," she  said.  "  Now  I'll  begin  to  do 
mine.  Bring  me  a  pencil  and  a  piece 
of  paper.  I  want  to  figure  what  your 
wages  will  amount  to." 

'  My  wages!"  gasped  Eileen.  "I 
did  not  know  I  was  to  have  any." 

"  Your  sisters  had."  said  Miss  Hen- 
rietta. "  The  housekeeping  allowance 
I  made  them  was  no  miserly  one,  and 
I  told  them  that  from  it  I  expected 
nothing  beyond  a  fairly  good  table  and 
the  payment  of  such  necessary  bills  as 
came  in.  Whatever  they  could  save 
they  could  keep.  And,  since  a  dollar 
saved  is  two  dollars  earned,  at  the  end 
Of  her  three  months  T  doubled  for  each 
girl  what  she  had  saved." 

"  But — "  objected  Eileen. 

"  Not  so  fast,"  warned  Miss  Hen- 
rietta. "  A  cipher  remains  always  a 
cipher  whether  you  multiply  it  by  two 
or  by  twenty-two.    But  though  they 


saved  nothing,  Eileen,  yet  they  had 
their  wages. 

"That  they  preferred  chocolates 
and  matinee-tickets  and  a  new  hat  or 
gown  rather  than  a  sum  of  money 
saved  was  their  affair  and  not  mine. 
Their  wages  I  figured  in  my  head,  but 
yours  I  cannot. 

"  If  Barbara  had  been  with  me  when 
I  broke  my  hip  I'd  have  gone  to  the 
hospital,  for  flat  on  my  back  I  could 
never  have  stood  Barbara.  So  I  con- 
sider that  you  saved  me  hospital  ex- 
penses. 

"  Had  Margaret  been  here  I'd  have 
stayed  at.  home  with  a  trained  nurse  to 
look  after  me.  So,  you've  saved  me 
what  I  would  have  paid  a  nurse.  Rose 
could  have  cared  for  me.  and  she 
would ;  but  she'd  have  had  in  a  woman 
to  do  the  housework.  You've  saved 
me  her  wages.  And  as  you  spent  only 
one-tenth  of  the  money  allowed  for 
household  expenses,  the  other  nine- 
tenths  you  saved." 

As  she  talked.  Miss  Henrietta  had 
set  down  figures.  Now  she  added 
them  up.  and  Eileen,  looking  over  her 
shoulder,  gave  a  gasp  of  wonder. 

"  It's  a  thousand  dollars!  "  she  said 
in  an  awed  voice. 

"  Tzvo  thousand."  corrected  Miss 
Henrietta.  "  For  each  dollar  of  that 
thousand  is  a  dollar  saved,  and  a  dol- 
lar saved  is  two  dollars  earned." 

"  But — "  expostulated  the  amazed 
Eileen. 

Some  people,"  said  Miss  Henri- 
etta crisply,  "  leave  their  money  for 
their  relatives  to  fight  over  after 
they're  dead.  I  prefer  to  see  mine 
earned  and  pay  it  while  I'm  still  here. 
Bring  me  my  check-book,  child.  It's 
in  my  money-box." 

Eileen  stood  by  silently  watching 
her  aunt  fill  in  the  check.  She  went 
from  red  to  white  and  back  to  red 
again  when  the  slip  of  paper  was  put 
in  her  hand. 

"  There  aren't  words  to  thank  you," 
she  said  earnestly. 

For  that  money  meant  more  to  her 
than  her  aunt  guessed  or  imagined, 


758 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


And  why  lt  "leant  so  much  was  as  yet 
a  secret  between  Eileen  and  the  Im- 
provident gas-collector  who  could  have 
saved  his  money  but  hadn't  until  he 
met  Eileen,  and  so  now  had  enough  to 
furnish  a  house  or  even  a  little  flat; 
though  he  could,  he  earnestly  assured 
Eileen,  support  a  wife  if  the  wife  were 
herself  and  he  had  a  place  to  put  her 

Miss  Henrietta  put  her  check-hook 
back  in  the  monev-box  and  took  out  a 
roll  of  bills. 

M  Eileen.*'  she  said.  "  this  is  the 
housekeeping  money  1  meant  to  give 
you  and  didn't  Will  you  take  it  now 
and  stay  on  for  another  three 
months?  1 

The  girl's  sensitive  face  quivered 
and  flushed. 

"  Oh."  she  cried.  "  I'll  be  glad  to. 
And  I  think.  Aunt  Henrietta,  it's  be- 
cause I've  found  myself  here.  I  can 
do  things  at  last — not  big  things  or 
great  things,  of  course,  but — " 

"  Child."  interrupted  her  aunt.  44  the 
big  things  and  the  great  ones  don't  al- 
ways show-  so  on  the  surface.  And 
which  are  big  and  which  are  little  I 
sometimes  thing  only  God  Himself 
can  rightly  judge." 

From  the  direction  of  the  back  door 
came  the  sound  of  one  knocking,  and 
Eileen  started  to  her  feet. 

44  It's  —  the  gas-collector,"  she  fal- 
tered. 

"  The  nerve  of  him."  flared  Miss 
Henrietta,  44  coming  at  this  time  of 
night!     But  you've  the  money  now. 


Eileen.    Pay  him  and  send  him  about 

his  business." 

44  But  he  doesn't  come  officially  any 
more.  Aunt  Henrietta,"  Eileen  ex- 
plained in  some  confusion.  "  He 
comes  to  see  me.  and  his  name  is 
Jones." 

11  Humph."  said  Miss  Henrietta. 
w  Not  much  of  a  name,  according  to 
my  thinking." 

4*  He  has  another,"  defended  Eileen. 
"  It's  Fordham." 

"  Well."  conceded  Miss  .Henrietta, 
"  his  mother  evidently  tried  to  do 
what  she  could  to  improve  mat- 
ters, bat  I  can't  say  I  think  she 
altogether  succeeded.  Plain  John 
or  Henry  would  have  been  much 
better.  However,"  she  handsomely 
admitted.  44  he's  not  to  blame  for  either 
Jones  or  Fordham.  Go  and  let  him  in. 
Eileen,  and  bring  him  up.  I'll  look 
him  over." 

Eileen  went  down-stairs,  but  before 
ever  she  reached  the  kitchen  the  listen- 
ing Miss  Henrietta  heard  the  back 
door  open  and  close  again. 

Evidently  the  gas-collector,  whose 
name  was  Jones,  was  well  accustomed 
to  that  place  and  very  sure  of  his  wel- 
come. Miss  Henrietta  thought  she 
understood,  and  like  the  sensible  wom- 
an she  was.  she  accepted  the  inevitable. 

"  If  I  like  his  looks."  she  decided. 
"  half  as  well  as  I  do  Eileen's  house- 
keeping, I'll  ask  them  to  live  here,  for 
I  guess  if  we  both  tried,  he  and  I  could 
get  used  to  each  other  in  time." 


tr         tr         tr  u 

THE  CONTRADICTION 

BY  AMANDA  BENJAMIN  HALL 

THE  women  he  had  loved  before 
Had  made  him  promise  o'er  and  o'er 
He  would  be  true  till  both  were  dead : 
Then  love  had  fled! 


But  when  one  came  with  rainbow  smile 
Who  kissed  him.  saying  all  the  while. 

'"Tis  sweet  because  it  cannot  last," 
Love  stayed  steadfast! 


T\  EFORE  I  tell  this  story  I 
want  one  tiling  thoroughly 
\  understood.  I'm  not  look- 
ing  for  sympathy.  I  don't 
pVj&L  want,  and  I  don't  expect, 
anybody  to  say:  "  Poor  fel- 
low, it  was  a  shame !  " 

It  wasn't  a  shame.  All  that  I  got 
was  coming  to  me,  plainly  directed 
and  prepaid.  I  deserved  it.  Maybe 
more.  Now  that  I  look  back  I  think 
I  got  off  pretty  lightly.  At  all  events, 
I'm  not  complaining. 

This  being  settled,  en  avant!  as  we 
say  in  France. 

I  must  have  been  the  most  uncon- 
scionably fresh  thing  that  ever  needed 
salting.  Of  course  I  didn't  think  I 
was  at  the  time,  being  spoiled  by  my 
last  two  years  in  college,  where  they 
had  made  a  sort  of  idol  of  me  ever 
since  the  day  I  won  the  middle-weight 
championship  by  whipping  all  comers. 

After  that  they  began  to  puff  me  up. 
and  like  an  idiot  J  allowed  the  adula- 
tion to  turn  my  head. 

I  was  husky — very;  and,  if  I  do  say 
it.  I  could  box,  I  liked  the  sport,  and 
1  was  always  at  it.  Pat  Donoghue, 
our  boxing  instructor,  said  he  had 
never  seen  a  college  man  anywhere 
near  my  class. 

He  used  to  bring  some  of  the  best 

759 


professionals  down  to  put  on  the 
gloves  with  me.  I'm  not  bragging 
when  I  say  there  wasn't  one  of  them 
who  could  do  much  to  me.  They  all 
had  to  admit  that,  and  they  all  agreed 
with  Pat  that  in  going  in  for  the  law 
I  was  absolutely  ruining  what  couldn't 
have  helped  being  a  great  career  in  the 
ring. 

But,  while  all  this  praise  made  me 
horribly  conceited,  T  wasn't  quite  fool 
enough  to  consider  seriously  any 
proposition  to  become  a  prize-fighter; 
so  when  1  graduated  I  left  poor,  old 
Pat  and  his  plug-ugly  friends  mourn- 
ing my  loss  to  the  ring. 

The  family  all  thought  I  had 
worked  so  hard  to  get  my  degree  that 
I  ought  to  have  a  good,  long  rest  that 
summer.  I  thought  so  myself.  So 
when  Garravan,  Haddaway,  and  about 
twenty  others  who  were  going  into 
camp  in  the  Adirondack's  asked  me  to 
come  along,  I  gladly  accepted. 

They  were  overjoyed.  My  presence 
— the  presence  of  the  intercollegiate 
middle  -  weight  champion  boxer  — 
would  add  tone  to  any  camp,  fhey 
thought.  I  guess  maybe  I  thought  so, 
too. 

From  the  very  start,  as  I  can  see 
now,  T  began  to  cook  up  my  fate.  It 
was  entirely  unintentional  on  my  part 


J 


760 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


I  ditln't  mean  to  be  conceited  or  over- 
bearing. 

I  suppose  it  was  my  great  strength 
that  made  me  always  squaring  off  to 
other  fellows,  hitting  them  playful  lit- 
tle taps — not  so  soft,  I'm  afraid,  the 
way  the  weaker  ones  used  to  wince 
under  them — and  generally  showing 
my  companions  what  a  big.  muscular 
person  I  was. 

And  I  was  always  posing  around  in 
a  short-sleeved  shirt — or  it  must  have 
seemed  posing  to  the  others — getting 
tanned  up  till  my  muscular  frame 
looked-  like  a  piece  of  modeling  in 
bronze. 

But  nobody  called  me  down  for  it. 
all  being  a  little  afraid  of  me,  T  sup- 
pose: though  I  know  now,  of  course, 
that  they  noticed  it  and  poked  fun  at 
me  behind  my  back.  It  was  more  than 
fun.  too;  some  of  the  boys  began  to 
get  a  little  jealous  at  the  way  I  at- 
tracted the  girls. 

This  is  not  conceit,  please  under- 
stand me.  I  was  a  good-looking  chap, 
and  it  didn't  take  me  long  to  find  that 
masculine  strength  made  an  awful  hit 
with  the  other  sex;  so.  of  course,  I 
worked  it  for  all  it  was  worth. 

How  I  doted  on  showing  those 
bulging  biceps  of  mine  as  I  wielded  a 
paddle  before  the  admiring  eyes  of 
some  pretty  girl  from  one  of  the  cot- 
tages near  our  camp.  And  how  well 
I  knew  that,  as  I  stood  poised  on  the 
spring-board  for  a  dive  into  the  lake, 
more  than  one  smitten  maiden  was  ob- 
serving my  herculean  proportions 
from  the  piazza  of  the  lodge. 

For  this  camp  of  ours  was  not  in  the 
wilderness,  but  on  the  edge  of  one  of 
those  fashionable  summer  settlements 
in  which  the  Adirondacks  abound,  and 
there  were  plenty  of  people  to  nurture 
the  admiration  in  which  I  was  begin- 
ning to  hold  myself  so  highly. 

Poor  fool  that  I  was!  Ah.  well! 
"  Those  Whom  the  gods  would  de- 
stroy." and  so  on! 

Along  came  Victory.  The  first 
morning  I  saw  him  I  failed  to  size 
him  up  for  what  he  was.    I  looked  on 


him  only  as  an  unusually  fresh  boun- 
der for  daring  to  take  Millicent  Peters 
canoeing  when  it  was  generally  known 
along  the  lake  that  she  was  one  of  my 
particular  conquests,  if  not  the  one. 

Almost  every  morning  about  this 
hour  for  a  week  I  had  been  hopping 
into  my  canoe — in  white  flannels  with 
a  sleeveless  silk  shirt  that  showed  my 
arm-and-shoulder  muscles  to  the  best 
advantage — and  running  up  the  shore 
to  the  landing  in  front  of  the  lodge 
to  take  Millicent  for  a  ride. 

Why.  at  the  very  moment  when 
Vickery's  canoe  hove  in  sight,  with 
Vickery  doing  the  paddling  and  Milli- 
cent propped  against  the  cushions  in 
the  stern.  I  was  just  about  to  get  into 
my  own  to  go  after  her! 

I  stepped  back  on  the  dock,  scarce- 
ly believing  my  eyes,  as  Vickery  pad- 
dled the  canoe  alongside  at  Millicent's 
request. 

"  Hello.  Mr.  Kneeland."  she  called. 
'*  I've  brought  somebody  down  you 
ought  to  know.  Mr.  Vickery.  Mr. 
Kneeland.  Mr.  Vickery's  just  come 
up  to  the  lodge  for  the  summer. 
You've  heard  me  speak  of  Mr.  Knee- 
land— he's  the  college  champion  boxer, 
you  know !  " 

"  Glad  to  meet  you,"  said  Vickery. 
reaching  up  to  the  float. 

I  stooped  down  to  grasp  his  hand 
after  holding  Millicent's  a  moment. 
I  would  have  liked  to  yank  him  out  of 
the  canoe  and  dump  him  in  the  lake  in 
his  dark-blue  serge  suit;  but  T  thought 
I  could  attend  to  all  that  later. 

Vickery  didn't  look  as  if  he  would 
be  much  trouble,  giving  no  great  ap- 
pearance of  unusual  huskiness.  T 
rather  put  him  aside  and  addressed 
myself  to  Millicent  after  a  formal 
greeting  to  him.  He  sat  quietly  in  the 
canoe  as  she  and  1  chatted. 

Even  when  thev  went  back  to  the 
lodge,  after  inviting  me  up  to  play 
tennis  in  the  afternoon.  I  somewhat 
pitied  Vickery,  as  I  thought  I  noticed 
an  admiring  iight  in  his  eyes  when  he 
looked  in  Millicent's  direction. 

Poor  fellow!    So  he  had  already 


A  SCRAP  IN  THE  DARK. 


761 


lost  his  heart  to  her.  Oh.  well,  auuther 
fly  for  me  to  brush  aside ! 

That  afternoon  I  went  up  to  the 
lodge,  and  as  Vickery  came  down  to 
the  court  ready  for  a  set  of  doubles — 
he  and  some  other  girl  were  going  to 
play  Millicent  and  me — T  had  a  slight 
shock. 

He.  like  me.  wore  a  silk  shirt, 
sleeveless,  and  for  the  first  time  I  saw 
that  he  was  about  as  husky  an  indi- 
vidual as  myself !  His  muscles  were 
big  and  developed,  and  his  shoulders 
were  wonders,  while  his  neck  was 
short  and  corded. 

His  face,  too,  bore  all  the  marks  of 
a  man  in  good  training,  and  his  gen- 
eral action  as  he  got  into  the  game 
told  me  that  I  was  up  against  an  ath- 
lete like  myself.  I  wondered  if  he 
were  a  boxer,  and  at  the  first  chance  I 
asked  him. 

u  Oh.  a  little."  he  said.  "  I've  clone 
quite  a  little  at  college,  but  I  wouldn't 
care  to  call  myself  much  of  a  terror 
with  the  gloves,  especially  when 
you're  around." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  about  that,"  said 
I,  laughing,  but  thinking  to  myself : 

"  I'm  on  to  this  boy.  He's  some- 
body, and  he's  trying  to  lead  me  on !  " 

That  night  I  found  out  more  about 
Vickery.  I  learned  that  I  was  right 
in  my  estimate  of  his  prowess.  It  was 
Haddaway  who  tipped  me  off  as  we 
lay  around  the  camp-fire  waiting  to  go 
to  sleep. 

"  Vickery?  "  he  said.  "  If  it's  Tom 
Vickery,  he's  one  of  the  crack  West- 
ern college  middle-weights;  Michigan, 
I  think." 

Then  I  remembered  an  M  on  Vick- 
ery's  tennis-cap  and  knew  that  this 
was  the  man.  Ah,  well!  Maybe  it 
would  be  a  little  more  work  to  teach 
him  his  place  than  I  had  at  first  ex- 
pected; but  I  guessed  I  was  equal  to 
the  emergency ! 

I  didn't  want  to  pick  any  trouble 
with  him  though ;  not  that  I  was 
afraid  of  him,  for  I  give  you  my  word 
1  was  not.  I  had  whipped  many  men 
who  looked  a  good  deal  tougher  than 


he  was,  and  when  it  came  to  the  ques- 
tion of  skill.  I  hadn't  any  doubt  that 
any  advantage  on  that  score  was  on 
my  side. 

But  almost  from  the  first  I  could 
see  that  trouble  was  coming.  Vickery 
began  to  establish  a  proprietorship 
over  Millicent  Peters  that  was  galling 
to  me,  and  when  I  stepped  in  and  put 
a  stop  to  it  you  could  see  he  didn't 
like  it  a  bit.  And  one  day  when  a 
canoe-trip  was  organized  by  a  crowd 
along  the  lake  and  I  kidnaped  Milli- 
cent for  my  canoe-mate  just  when  I 
could  see  he  thought  he  had  it  all 
fixed,  I  imagined  for  a  moment  that 
Vickery  was  going  to  start  the  row- 
right  then  and  there  and  have  it  out 
with  me.  Well,  I'd  have  been  willing. 
I  think. 

Anyway,  from  that  time  on  I  kept 
my  eye  peeled  for  war.  and  in  no 
half-measured  way  I  showed  Mr. 
Vickery,  from  day  to  day,  that  I 
wasn't  going  to  stand  any  fooling. 
I'll  even  admit  that  the  chip  which 
each  of  us  carried  around  on  his  shoul- 
der became  apparent  to  the  rest  of  the 
crowd. 

II. 

Note  by  George  Garravan.  Camp 
Carefree.  Mirror  Lake,  Adiron- 
dacks. 

My  friend.  Ted  Kneeland,  one  of 
the  finest  fellows  you  ever  knew,  has 
turned  his  '*  Confession."  as  he  calls 
this  story,  over  to  me  to  continue  at 
this  point. 

"  George,"  he  said.  "  you'll  see 
what  I've  written,  and  you'll  notice 
the  place  where  I'm  stuck.  I  could 
write  it  all  right,  but  you  know  some 
of  the  details  better  than  I  do;  and  be- 
sides I've  some  sense  of  shame  left. 

"  Put  in  the  part  up  to  the  fight. 
Don't  tell  too  much,  but  make  it  plain 
why  you  and  the  bunch  finally  had  to 
step  in  and  teach  us  two  big  hulks  a 
much-needed  lesson.  Don't  spare 
either  of  us,  but  have  a  little  pity. 
George,  just  a  little  pity!" 


762 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


So  here  goes: 

It  was  just  as  Kneeland  said;  every- 
body soon  discovered  that  he  and 
Yickerv  had  a  chip  on  the  shoulder 
and  were  looking  for  trouble.  At 
first  we  looked  on  the  whole  matter  as 
a  joke,  but  alter  a  while  it  got  tedious 
and  bothersome,  because  we  couldn't 
go  anyw  here  without  the  enmity  of  the 
two  spoiling  things. 

Our  crowd  and  the  lodge  crowd 
began  to  grow  rather  chummy  during 
the  summer — nice  fellows  up  at  the 
lodge  and  a  lot  of  bully  girls.  So  we 
had  them  over  at  Camp  Carefree  for 
little  picnics  and  dances  and  things, 
and  they  returned  the  compliment. 

But  instead  «.f  these  little  games  be- 
ing good  fun,  as  they  should  have 
been,  they  commenced  to  be  the  bane 
of  our  young  lives,  because  Vickery 
and  Kneeland  spoiled  them. 

h  wasn't  only  over  the  Peters  girl, 
though  goodness  knows  every  time  the 
two  came  within  three  feet  of  each 
other  and  she  was  anywhere  around, 
we  all  thought  we'd  soon  have  to 
throw  red  pepper  in  their  eyes  to  pry 
them  apart. 

Xo:  the  two  clashed  everywhere; 
and  at  last  it  came  to  a  point  where 
we  either  had  to  be  on  the  watch  all 
the  time  or  there'd  have  been  murder. 

"  Look  here.  Garry !  "  said  Had- 
daway  to  me  one  day.  "  There's  go- 
ing to  be  murder  up  in  these  diggings 
pretty  soon." 

"Over  what?'*  I  asked. 

11  Vickery  and  Kneeland.  We  can't 
keep  'em  apart  much  longer.  Honestly, 
every  time  they're  on  the  same  side  of 
the  lake  T  look  for  a  battle  to  the 
death.  Just  now,  for  instance,  Vickery 
came  up  to  the  float  in  his  canoe  and 
Kneeland  was  standing  there  and 
wouldn't  move  an  inch.  _ 

"  I  saw  Vickery  push  his  way  back 
of  Kneeland,  and  I  give  yon  my  word 
if  he  had  brushed  the  tip  of  the  nap 
On  Kneeland's  sweater  he'd  have  gone 
overboard.  Kneeland's  fist  was  dou- 
bled up  like  a  ham  at  the  end  of  a 
catapult." 


"  And  Vickery,  I  suppose,  wasn't 
looking  for  anything?  " 

"  Oh,  not  at  all !  He  was  not  only 
looking,  but  begging  for  it!  I  tell 
you.  they're  spoiling  the  whole  sum- 
mer. Millicent  Peters  says  she  won't 
go  up  the  lake  with  the  party  we're 
getting  up  next  Saturday  if  either 
Vickery  «>r  Kneeland  goes  along.  She 
thinks  there  '11  be  a  tragedy  before 
they  get  back,  and  she  doesn't  want 
her  name  in  the  papers  as  the  bone  of 
contention." 

It's  a  darned  shame ! "  said  I. 
"  But  T  don't  see  what  I  can  do  un- 
less—" 

"  Unless  what  ?  Talking  to  either 
of  them  won't  do  any  good." 

"  CJftless;"  I  said,  an  idea  flashing 
through  my  head.  "  they  get  together 
before  Saturday  and  fight  it  out." 

"  They  wouldn't  do  it,"  said  Had- 
daway.  "  It's  my  candid  opinion  that 
Kneeland.  for  all  his  record  and  fine 
opinion  he  has  of  himself,  is  a  little 
afraid  of  Vickery.  And  I  don't  im- 
agine Vickery  is  dying  to  try  Knee- 
land out  either. 

"  They're  like  a  couple  of  dogs  that 
growl  at  each  other  across  a  fence. 
If  the  gate  were  opened  they'd  prob- 
ably both  run." 

"  I  doubt  that."  said  T.  "  T  think 
Kneeland  could  kill  Vickery.  He's 
considerably  heavier." 

"  But  Vick's  like  a  bundle  of  whip- 
cords. I'd  like  to  sec  them  together. 
If  we  could  only  fix  it  somehow." 

We  mentioned  our  idea  to  Millicent 
Peters,  who  we  ran  across  that  eve- 
ning. She  was  hiding  from  both 
Vickery  and  Kneeland.  who  were 
looking  for  her  to  take  her  canoeing 
in  the  moonlight. 

"  Oh.  I  think  any  such  plan  is  per- 
fectly brutal!"  she  exclaimed  in  hor- 
ror.   "You  are  all  dreadful!" 

"  But  it's  the  only  way,"  said  Had- 
daway.  "  You  can't  have  two  cocks 
of  the  walk;  one's  got  to  whip  the 
other  and  have  it  over  with,  so  the 
question  of  mastery's  decided  once  and 
•  for  all." 


A  SCRAP  IN  THE  DARK. 


763 


"  Yes,"  said  Millicent.  "And  which- 
ever one  was  whipped  would  pack  up 
and  go  home  and  leave  the  other,  and 
that  wouldn't  do.  because  they're  both 
such  charming  fellows!  And  charm- 
ing fellows  are  very  scarce  up  here!" 

Oh !  "  said  we,  understanding  her, 
and  went  away. 

But  five  minutes  later  we  decided 
that  our  plan  must  be  followed  out, 
after  all.  It  was  just  as  we  were  leav- 
ing the  lodge.  Suddenly,  down  on  the 
lawn  near  the  lake,  there  broke  out  a 
noise  like  the  falling  of  a  sky-scraper, 
and  we  got  there  just  in  time  to  keep 
Kneeland,  who  had  bumped  into  Vick- 
ery, from  chucking  Vickery  clear 
across  the  lake — or  vice  versa. 

We  dragged  Kneeland  down  to  our 
camp  and  sent  Vickery  up  to  the 
lodge  under  a  strong  escort.  And  that 
night  we  planned  it  all  out. 

We  put  it  to  Vickery  and  Kneeland 
next  morning — that  is,  we  put  part  of 
it  to  them — not  all.  There  was  one 
little  portion  we  reserved  for  our- 
selves— the  secret  part. 

"  You  and  Vickery  are  spoiling 
everybody's  summer,"  we  told  Knee- 
land. "  You're  on  the  verge  of  a  bat- 
tle all  the  time.  Everybody's  afraid 
to  go  anywhere  because  they  think  it's 
liable  to  break  out  any  moment. 

"  Now,  the  only  way  to  get  this 
thing  over  is  for  you  two  fellows  to 
fight  it  out.  Vickery  thinks  he  can 
put  it  all  over  you ;  he's  been  around 
bragging  that  you're  afraid  of  him. 
You  feel  a  little  the  same  way  about 
him,  and  we  hope  and  believe  thor- 
oughly you're  right. 

"  But  it's  got  to  be  settled,  and 
here's  our  arrangement :  You  and  he 
are  to  fight  a  duel,  but  a  different  sort 
of  a  duel  from  most  of  them.  You're 
going  to  fight  blindfolded." 

"Blindfolded?"  shouted  Kneeland. 
"  Not  on  your  li  fe !  " 

"Oh,  yes;  you  are."  said  we.  "It's 
Millicent  Peters's  idea.  We  think  we 
know  why.  She's  a  little  afraid  yotJ 
can  lick  Vickery  too  easily,  and  she 
doesn't  want  him  marked  up  too  much. 


Not  that  she  really  cares  more  for  him 
than  she  does  for  you;  but  she's  sym- 
pathetic, and  favors  the  under  dog. 
She  thinks  that  if  you're  blindfolded 
you  won't  be  able  to  hit  him  so  hard 
and  so  often,  and — " 

"Once  will  be  enough."  grunted 
Kneeland.  "  When's  the  duel  coming: 
off?" 

We  told  practically  the  same  things 
to  Vickery,  and  he  also  fell  for  our 
plan  when  we  mentioned  why  Milli- 
cent wanted  the  blindfolds  on  her  two 
heroes. 

He  said  he  could  lick  Kneeland 
blindfolded,  and  if  it  would  please 
Millicent  at  all  we  would  tie  one  of 
his  hands  behind  his  back.  But  we 
said  no;  we  only  wanted  the  blind- 
folds on,  and  the  duel  would  take 
place  in  B  Camp,  which  was  a  good, 
big  room,  that  night. 

And  promptly  at  eight  o'clock  Vick- 
ery landed  at  our  float  with  his  canoe 
and  two  seconds.  Charley  Deane  and 
Jack  Peters.  Millicent's  brother.  He 
was  introduced  to  Kneeland.  who  had 
Haddaway  and  me  to  look  after  him. 
and  then  the  arrangements  were  laid 
before  them. 

I  will  now  surrender  as  narrator  in 
favor  of  Mr.  Kneeland  himself. 

III. 

Narrative  Continued  by  Edward 
Kneeland.  Former  Intercolle- 
giate Middlk-Weight  Champion. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Garry,  who 
did  most  of  the  talking,  "  it  is  unnec- 
essary to  rehearse  the  reasons  for  the 
coming  combat  or  why  it  is  to  be 
fought  as  we  have  arranged.  Further 
details  are  few.  B  Camp  has  been 
stripped  for  the  fray — all  the  furniture 
taken  out,  as  you  will  see  when  you 
are  admitted. 

"  You  will  be  taken  in  there,  the 
gloves  —  two  ounces  —  adjusted,  and 
the  blindfolds  put  over  your  eyes. 
Mr.  Kneeland'*;  seconds  will  put  Mr. 
Vickery's    on.    and    Mr.  Vickery's 


764 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


friends  will  perform  a  similar  duty 
for  Mr.  Kneeland. 

"You  will  then  be  left  to  fight  it 
out  behind  locked  doors.  At  the  end 
of  ten  minutes  the  doors  will  be  un- 
locked, the  blindfolds  removed  from 
your  eyes,  and  the  winner  declared. 

"That  there  will  be  a  winner  we 
sincerely  trust  and  believe.  That  the 
light  will  be  fair  we  have  no  doubt, 
relying  on  each  combatant's  honor  to 
strike  no  foul  blows  or  to  remove  his 
blindfold, 

"Gentlemen,  are  you  ready?" 

"  We  are."  we  said. 

Then  Garry  and  the  other  three 
seconds  took  us  inside  of  B  Camp, 
which,  as  he  had  said,  was  stripped 
clean — not  a  chair  or  a  table  or  a 
hammock  left  inside;  no  hiding-place. 

We  stripped,  and.  though  it  wasn't 
the  first  time  I  had  seen  Yickery  in 
the  buff,  I  was  seized  with  strong  ad- 
miration for  his  appearance;  but  I 
WftS&'t  a  bit  scared  of  him.  Then  they 
put  on  the  gloves — pretty  nearly  skin- 
gloves,  too — as  you  know  two  ounces 
isn't  much. 

Then  Peters  and  Deane  put  on  my 
blindfold,  doing  a  thorough  job,  all 
right. 

First  they  slipped  a  baglike  thing 
of  black  silk  down  over  my  head  and 
tied  it  secure W  under  my  chin.  And 
then  over  that  they  put  another  strip 
across  my  eyes,  tying  that  tightly  at 
the  back  of  my  head. 

See?  I  couldn't  see  the  inside  of 
my  own  eyelids.1 

Garravan  and  Haddaway  were  at- 
tending to  Yickery  at  the  same  time — 
doing  a  thorough  job,  too,  for  I 
heard  him  exclaim  in  a  muffled  way : 

w  Ouch !  Not  so  tight  Over  the  right 
eye  there!  I'm  a  little  tender — boxing 
a  bit  this  morning! " 

"You'll  be  tenderer!  "  thought  I  to 
myself. 

Finally  they  had  us  both  ready. 
Deane  and  Peters  stepped  away  from 
me. 

"  All  .fixed?  "  I  heard  Garravan  ask. 
"All    fixed."    replied  Millicent's 


brother.   "  Do  you  care  to  examine 

his  blindfold?" 

"  Not  unless  you  want  to  look  over 
Yickery's,"  said  Haddaway.  There 
was  a  moment's  silence,  while  I  stood 
there  like  a  dummy,  wondering  what 
was  coming  next. 

"  Everything  being  arranged,"  said 
Garravan,  "  I  suppose  we  may  as  well 
let  them  start.  How  about  the  lamp? 
Do  we  need  to  leave  it  in  here?  " 

**  I  don't  see  how  a  light  can  be  of 
any  advantage  to  them  under  the  cir- 
cumstances,"' said  Deane,  *'  And  they 
might  knock  it  over." 

All  right."  said  Garravan.  "  I 
£ues>  we'd  better  take  it  cut  with  u>. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,"  he  added,  "  let's 
get  down  to  business.  Your  hand, 
Kneeland !  " 

He  took  my  right,  and  I  felt  him 
place  it  in  Yickery's.  holding  them  to- 
gether with  both  of  his. 

"  You  underhand  the  rules  of  this 
— er — affair  of  honor,"  he  said.  "  Ten 
minutes  it's  to  last.  You  can  arrange 
the  rounds  to  suit  your  convenience. 
At  the  end  of  ten  minutes  we  will  un- 
lock the  doors  and  present  ourselves 
to  you.  Till  then  matters  are  in  your 
hands.    Are  vou  ready  ?  " 

"  I  am,"  said  I. 

"  I  am,"  said  Yickery. 
Then,"    said    Garravan.    "  when 
you  receive  the  signal  you  will  begin; 
but  not  till  then.  Gentlemen — Deane, 
Haddaway,  Peters!  Are  you  ready  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Haddaway  from 
the  direction  I  remembered  the  door 
to  be  in.  "  Come  on.  Garravan !  Got 
the  lamp.  Deane?  " 

"  Got  everything." 

"  Wait  for  the  signal."  said  Garra- 
van. pressing  my  hand  into  Yickery's 
and  releasing  his  grasp  on  our  wrists. 

Then  he  walked  rapidly  toward  the 
door. 

"  Wait!"  he  said. 

There  was  a  scuffling  of  feet.  The 
door  slammed  to  and  was  locked,  and 
from  outside  came  Garravan's  voice: 

"  Go ! " 

We  were  alone !  The  battle  was  on ! 


A  SCRAP  IN  THE  DARK. 


765 


Not  till  that  moment  did  I  realize 
the  peculiar  conditions  of  the  fight. 
Not  till  we  were  left  alone  in  that  big 
room,  facing  each  other  in  the  dark, 
did  I  entirely  comprehend  what  I  had 
agreed  to.  Somehow,  while  Garravan 
remained  holding  our  hands,  I  could 
see — or  at  least  could  sense — my  sur- 
roundings; but  with  his  withdrawal 
and  the  withdrawal  of  the  other  three 
seconds  from  the  room  there  came  a 
feeling  of  helplessness  that  I  can't 
describe. 

I  felt  lost,  like  a  ship  without  a  rud- 
der. I  almost  forgot  that  facing  me, 
in  precisely  the  same  predicament, 
was  Vickery,  and  that  he  and  I  were 
there  to  fight  each  other. 

Then  suddenly  I  heard  a  slight  sound, 
like  that  of  a  foot  being  moved  ten- 
tatively on  the  bare  floor.  It  brought 
me  to  my  senses.  It  was  Vickery, 
setting  himself  for  the  first  punch, 
which  he  meant  to  make  a  good  one, 
before  I  should  have  any  chance  to 
elude  him  in  the  Stygian  darkness. 

"  Two  can  play  at  that  game !  " 
flashed  through  my  mind. 

I  drew  back,  my  mind's  eye,  if  not 
my  physical  optic,  fixed  on  the  point 
of  Yickery's  chin,  which  must  be 
within  striking  distance.  I  let  fly — a 
straight,  full  -  forced,  right  -  arm  jab, 
with  all  the  weight  of  my  body  be- 
hind it. 

It  landed — on  the  air! 

But  at  that  same  instant  Yickery's 
blow,  which  must  have  been  a  coun- 
terpart of  my  own.  was  launched,  and 
I  felt  the  heel  of  his  hand  come  crash- 
ing against  my  left  cheek.  It  was  a 
glancing  blow,  and  that  was  all  that 
saved  me,  for  it  was  a  crusher,  deliv- 
ered with  all  the  force  he  could  put 
into  it — I  could  tell  that  by  the  grunt 
with  which  he  accompanied  it — and  if 
Yickery's  punch  had  landed  fair  on 
my  jaw  it  might  have  finished  ine  then 
and  there. 

So!  I  had  been  none  too  quick  for 
my  foxy  opponent. 

Almost  before  the  thud  of  his  fist 
had  lost  its  force  I  side-stepped  quick- 


ly, so  as  to  forestall  a  second  jab  of 
the  same  sort  should  he  try  it.  As  I 
side-stepped  I  took  a  step  forward  and 
let  go  at  him  with  my  right  again; 
but  this  time  in  a  swing,  to  catch  him 
on  the  side  of  the  face  if  he  were  still 
there. 

This  time  I  landed  —  landed  good 
and  hard  —  and  I  heard  him  grunt. 
But  before  I  could  follow  it  with  an 
uppercut  from  my  left,  somehow  he 
crossed  me.  It  was  wonderfully 
quick,  wonderfully  well  measured,  and 
it  took  me  flush  on  the  mouth. 

Oh.  what  a  crusher!  Behind  my 
impenetrable  blindfold  I  saw  stars  — 
all  the  stars  in  the  world — and,  what's 
more,  they  were  red  stars,  for  now  I 
was  mad  clear  through. 

I  let  fly  at  Yickery.  I  missed.  I 
followed  up  and  drove  again  at  him 
—  wide  swings  first  with  my  left, 
then  my  right. 

They  swished  through  the  air,  but 
they  met  nothing.  I  began  to  think  I 
was  fighting  away  from  him.  when 
whack!  it  was  my  left  ear  this  time 
that  got  it  —  got  it  with  a  ringing, 
palm-open  slap  that  made  my  brains 
ring  and  buzz! 

I  was  maddened,  not  so  much  with 
the  force  of  the  blows  already  landed 
on  me  as  at  the  thought  that  Yickery 
could  get  me  almost  at  will,  while  I 
could  not  find  him. 

I  stopped,  crouching,  nursing  my 
smarts,  listening. 

Then  I  heard  him  behind  me,  creep- 
ing stealthily,  mouselike.  I  turned  on 
my  toes  and  let  fly  where  I  could  hear 
his  sharp,  quick  breathing.  Before 
my  blow  had  finished  the  arc  in  which 
I  swung  my  fist,  crash!  Again  that 
smash  on  the  mouth;  and  szvash! 
Again  that  echo  -  awakening  slap  on 
my  ear — my  right  ear  this  time. 

I  swung  wildly,  leaping  forward. 
Once  or  twice,  as  I  rained  a  shower 
of  blows  in  all  directions.  I  landed, 
though  not  effectually.  But  neither 
did  Vickery.  I  was  making  him  cover 
and  give  ground,  anyway,  which  was 
some  satisfaction. 


766 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


T  pressed  on.  -with  a  wilder  swing 
than  ever;  but  I  hit  nothing  more.  A 
sound  like  a  quick  tread  to  one  side 
gave  me  a  hint  that  he  had  side- 
stepped me.  1  leaped  away,  fearing  a 
flank  attack:  hut  I  was  too  late. 

Bang!  Bang!  Not  one,  hut  two 
staggering  blows  landed  on  my  neck- 
just  below  the  ear — a  tritle  higher  and 
I  should  have  been  a  goner. 

I  followed  their  direction.  I  fought 
into  them — and  suddenly  I  landed. 

Oh.  yes;  I  landed — hard!  I  thought 
my  hand  was  broken,  for  it  was  the 
wall  I  had  struck,  sending  my  knuckles 
crashing  against  the  rough  pine!  And 
as  if  that  were  not  enough,  from  fully 
ten  feet  away  I  heard  a  mocking 
laugh. 

"Is  that  so?"  I  roared,  now  fairly 
beside  myself  with  rage.  "Look  out 
now !  You'll  get  it  good  and  plenty 
this  time!  " 

Smack.'  Something  landed  on  my 
eye !  SmasJi .'  Something  else  met  my 
nose  with  terrific  impact. 

And  then  for  the  first  time  I  knewr 
what  it  was  to  actually  fear  an  adver- 
sary. His  uncanny  success  in  hitting 
me  and  getting  away  again  made  me 
drop  to  the  floor,  holding  my  breath, 
coming  nearer  than  ever  before  in  my 
life  to  wishing  the  fight  were  over. 

But  almost  before  I  had  crouched 
down  to  my  utmost  my  budding  ter- 
ror gave  way  to  a  desire  for  revenge. 
.It  was  utterly  impossible  that  Vick- 
ery.  blindfolded  as  I  was — and  of  the 
tightness  of  his  bandage  I  had  no 
doubts  —  could  sec  any  better  than  I 
could. 

It  must  have  been  luck,  or  a  skilful 
way  of  fighting — waiting  for  mc  lis- 
tening to  my  footsteps,  and  locating 
me  by  the  sound.  I  would  do  the 
amc  thing ;  J,  too,  would  be  cautious. 

I  rose  slowly  to  my  feet,  listening, 
scarcely  daring  to  breathe  lest  I  should 
shut  out  the  sound  of  his  slightest 
movement. 

All  was  still.  Nothing  but  the  ljeat- 
ing  of  my  heart  alarmed  the  night. 
Yet  I  listened,  until  at  last  I  thought 


I  could  hear  the  slightest  sort  of  noise 
— perhaps  breathing,  perhaps  move- 
ment— to  my  left. 

Slowly,  cautiously,  hardly  daring  to 
move  a  foot  for  fear  it  would  be 
heard,  I  began  to  creep  in  that  direc- 
tion. 

Crash!  This  time  it  was  another  of 
those  glancing  blows  on  the  side  of 
my  face.  Crash!  Another  Off  the 
Opposite  cheek.  With  the  second  one 
I  turned  one  loose  with  everything  I 
had  behind  it.  Nothing  suffered  but 
the  air  I 

I  stood  still,  gasping,  not  from  loss 
of  breath,  but  in  astonishment.  How 
could  he  do  it?  Where  was  he?  Well, 
let  him  come  on  now!  If  he  had  me 
located  he  could  not  be  far  away. 
Next  time  I.  too,  would — 

Crack!  My  left  ear  rang.  I  leaped 
fully  five  feet  to  the  right.  Smack! 
On  the  side  of  my  nose  —  the  right 
side.  I  danced  backward,  bringing  up 
my  guard. 

Blam!  An  uppercut  from  under- 
neath my  guard,  jarring  my  teeth,  but 
jarring  a  thousand  times  more  my 
state  of  mind.  Where  was  Yickery? 
How  did  he  do  it?    How — 

Crash!  Full  in  the  space  between 
my  eyes.  I  went  down.  I  won't  ad- 
mit it  was  entirely  from  the  blow.  I 
dropped  willingly,  and  I  slaved  dozvn! 

Afraid  to  get  up?  Well,  yes;  I'll 
admit  it.  and  if  you  laugh  at  me  and 
call  me  a  quitter  all  I  have  to  say  is. 
let  them  put  you  in  a  dark  room  with 
another  man.  both  blindfolded,  and  let 
him  hit  you  as  often  and  as  hard  as 
he  pleases  w  hen  you  can't  find  him  to 
save  your  life.  And  see  if  you  aren't 
afraid,  too! 

Yes,  I  was  afraid.  I  lay  crouching 
there,  gasping,  my  hands  resting  on 
the  floor  ready  to  spring  if  that  fist 
should  find  me  again,  but  not  knowing 
which  way  to  jump. 

It  was  very  .still.  Not  a  breath 
could  be  heard  but  my  own,  and  I  took 
scarcely  enough  into  my  lungs  to  keep 
them  beilowsed,  lest  the  sound  of  it 
should  tell  Vickcry  where  I  was. 


A  SCRAP  IN  THE  DARK. 


767 


I  even  crawled  along  the  floor  like 
a  whipped  dog".  He  must  not  find  me 
— not  unless  I  could  find  him,  too. 

Then  I  realized  what  a  coward  I 
was.  I  rose  slowly  and  began  feeling 
along  the  wall  till  I  came  to  the  locked 
door.  It  was  almost  in  my  mind  to 
draw  the  bolt  and  leap  outside  to  get 
away  from  this  uncanny  adversary, 
but  I  shook  off  the  desire  and  stepped 
out  into  the  center  of  the  room. 

If  he  were  there  I  had  another  plan 
now.  I  would  let  him  strike  me,  and 
would  wait.  But  when  the  second  one 
came  I  would  clinch,  and  then — 

Oh,  I  didn't  care  if  it  was  against 
the  rules  or  not!  Once  I  got  hold  of 
him  there  would  be  no  rules,  no  any- 
thing but  revenge!  With  teeth 
clenched  I  waited.  I  waited,  but  not 
long! 

Crash!  I  took  the  blow  and  got 
ready,  my  hands  half  lifted,  not  for 
a  blow,  but  to  grab  the  arm  next  time 
it  came  at  me. 

Blam!    Back  of  my  ear! 

I  whirled  with  gritting  teeth  and 
pawed  at  the  air  to  clutch  him  by 
throat  or  arm — by  anything. 

Crash!  Behind  my  ear  again,  but 
now  from  the  other  direction!  Now 
T  wildly,  madly  covered  and  sank  to 
the  floor — whipped  ! 

And  then  suddenly  1  heard  the  bolts 
of  the  door  being  drawn  and  the 
sound  of  voices — 

"  Ten  minutes  up!  " 

With  the  horrid  thought  that  they 
would  find  me  cowering — punished — 
licked ! — I  leaped  to  my  feet  and  stood 
in  a  fighting  position.  There  came 
the  rush  of  feet,  my  blindfold  was 
torn  off,  and  there,  two  feet  from 
me,  in  the  same  position  as  that  which 
I  was  holding,  stood  Vickery. 

I  was  ashamed  to  look  at  him — I, 
with  my  lips  puffed ;  my  eyes,  one 
completely  closed,  the  other  only  a 
slit  through  which  I  could  see  but 
dimly;  my  nose  swollen,  my  chin  and 
cheeks  scraped  and  bulging!  While 
he,  I  knew,  was  practically  unscathed. 

Then    suddenly  through   my  half- 


closed  eye  I  saw  what  I  did  not  be- 
lieve. 

Vickery  was  a  sight!  If  my  eyes 
were  bad  his  were  shocking.  His  up- 
per lip  was  puffed  out  so  that  you 
could  have  hung  a  towel  on  it;  his 
nose  was  twice  its  natural  size,  his 
whole  countenance  seemed  so  dis- 
torted that  I  hardly  knew  him.  But 
through  his  bloated  features  he  was 
staring  at  me  as  I  would  have  stared 
at  a  superman,  awe.  admiration,  com- 
plete worship  in  his  maudlin  glance! 

I  looked  from  this  sight,  the  mean- 
ing of  which  I  could  not  fathom,  to 
our  seconds  for  an  explanation. 

I  looked  in  vain.  I  thought  I  saw 
the  retreating  form  of  Garravan  go- 
ing through  the  door,  and  so  did 
Vickery.  But  we  were  too  slow  for 
the  little  rabbit,  and  all  we  could  do 
was  look  out  after  the  scurrying 
quartet  into  the  dark  of  the  woods, 
and  curse  them — for  what,  we  did 
not  know  exactly! 

Then  we  turned  back  into  the  big 
room  and  looked  at  each  other,  stand- 
ing under  the  lamp,  which  they  had 
had  the  decency  to  replace  before  mak- 
ing their  exit. 

"My  Lord.  Kneeland !  "  gasped  he. 
"What's  happened  to  you?  You're 
a  sight !  " 

"  What's  happened  to  me !  "  I 
flashed  back.  "  What's  happened ! 
You  ask  that  after  what  you  did  to 
me !  " 

"  I!  "  he  gasped.  "  V.  What  are 
you  talking  about?  I  never  landed 
on  you  once!  While  you  simply  had 
me  whanging  all  over  the  place!  Look 
what  vou've  done  to  mv  face!  " 

"I!" 

It  was  my  turn  to  gasp. 

"  I!  Why.  Yick.  I  never  laid  a 
glove  on  you  through  the  whole 
thing'  " 

"You  didn't!  Then  who—" 
I  think  it  came  to  us  simultaneously. 
I  know  that  V  ickery  was  no  quicker 
than  I  in  spying  those  four  pairs  of 
two-ounce  gloves  that  somebody  had 
hurriedly   thrown    on   the   floor!  I 


76* 


ALL- STORY  WEEKLY. 


know  he  saw  no  sooner  than  I  did 
what  it  all  had  meant!  And  I  know 
•we  both  looked  pretty  well  ashamed 
as  we  shook  hands. 

"  And  there  were  four  of  them  in 
the  room  all  the  time,  whanging  us 
any  way  they  wanted  to !  "  said  he. 
"Four  of  them!    Just  think  of  H! 


And  I  thought  it  was  you.  Will  we; 
kill  them  for  it?  " 

u  We  ought  to,"  said  L  "  But 
somehow.  Vick,  I  think  we'd  46  bet- 
ter lo  forget  it.  Don't  you  think 
maybe  we  brought  it  on  ourselves? 
Come,  let's  shake  hands ! " 

And  we  did  again! 


tJ  XJ  XJ  V 

THE  MASTER— DEAD 

BY  DJUNA  CHAPPELL  BARNES 

HIS  sighs  were  sonnets  out  of  school. 
He  made  replies 
Like  any  wise,  artistic  fool 
With  gabled  eyes. 
He  told  his  truths  as  men  have  done 
Since  men  knew  lies. 

He  was  alone  the  master  grain 

In  all  the  crowd. 
A  thousand  hammers  on  his  heart 

Beat  high  and  loud. 
Aye.  it's  a  wasted  field  indeed. 

Unfilled,  unplowcd. 

His  sense  of  tolerance  was  marred 

By  inborn  leers. 
His  eyes,  the  fountain-springs  of  life, 

Half  warped  with  tears. 
Some  said  that  he  had  wept  too  much 

Throughout  the  years. 

And  so  he  gambled  at  life's  hoard 

(.Breath  lias  its  price) ; 
A  prison's  built  with  iron  bars, 

A  man  with  dice. 
A  kitten  is  a  king  because 

It  knows  its  mice. 

And  so  he  died,  yet  lying  dead 

Was  incomplete : 
For  though  his  head  laughed  loud  in  hell. 

The  shudd'ring  wheat 
In  God's  stern  granaries  was  stirred 

By  his  great  feet. 

Though  half  of  him.  irreverence, 

And  half  retrieves. 
His  chest  he  left  beneath  our  sod 

And  leaves; 
And  in  the  dawn,  when  God  is  still — 

It  heaves. 


0/mf  J*  V.  I  A.  MS.  U 
TA«  B.V.D.  Can/anj. 


"You  Rascal,  It's  B.V.D.  That  Keeps  You  Cool!" 

"Vou've  been  strutting  around  the  house,  bragging:  'How 
1  Cool  I  Am' — now  I  know  the  reason — caught  with  the 
goods.    You  can't  get  ahead  of  your  Dad,  though — ha!  ha! 
Tm  wearing  B.V.  D.,   too.     I've  got  it  on  right  now. 

"Mother  got  mine  for  me  the  other  day  at  Brown's. 
You  bet,  she  knows  how  to  buy.  Always  gets  what 
she  asks  for,  and,  Boy,  I  haven't  felt  so  cool  zr\A  com- 
fortable in  all  my  life.  Doesn't  bind  or  chafe — lets 
the  air  in — seems  to  keep  your  pores  open — launders 
as  white  and  soft  as  a  handkerchief — simply  great." 


On  every   B.V.  D.   Undergarment  is 
This  Red  H  aven  Label 


sewed" 


MADE  FOR  THE 


B.V  D. 


BEST  RETAIL  TRADE  j 


\Tradi  hf*ri  Rre-  V-  $-  F"'-  Off.  6  finfe*  DtaMel 

Firmly  insist  upon  seeing  the  B.V.  D.  AW  WvotM 
Labels  and  firmly  refuse  to  take  any  Athletic 
Underwear  without  it.  Then  you'll  get  properly 
Ctttf    correctly   made,  long-service  underwear. 

it. V.I).  Union  Sail.-,  (Pat.  U.  S.  A.  4-50-07)  ft, 00.  51. SO.  SiOO. 
SJ.OO  and  55.00  the  Suit.  B.V.D.  Coat  Cut  Undershirt*  and 
Knrr  Uofctb  Drawer*.  50c.  75c  51.00  and5t.SU  ibe  Garment. 

The  B.V.  D.  Company,  NcwYurk. 

tendon  Sellim:  Agency :  Aft.  Aldcrmanhorv.  K.  C 


V  A  C   A  T 


To  the  pleasures 
of  vacation  days 
a  Premo  adds 
the  further  pleas- 
ure of  making 
pictures  of  all 
the  persons  and 
things  that  make 
the  vacation 
worth  while, 


Your  vacation  will 
be  much  vleasanter 


n 


1 


PREMO 

I/itfht.  compact,  cflicicnt  and  dependable  in  the  fullest  sense  of  tfic  word,  a 
Premo  is  the  ideal  vacationist's  camera.    Prices  range  from  #1,50  to  $130. 

Premn  catalogue  fn-f  at  nil  di-aler.*,  -»r  gladly  mailed  on  request, 

Rochester  Optical  Division,  Eastman  Kodak  Co.,  Rochester,  N.  Y.